Five times HG Wells had her way, and all the times she didn't
by seriousish
Summary: And you'd think Pete would be the one to invent the 'arch-enemy with benefits.' MykaXHelena.
1. The first time

_A/N: This story takes place during 2x01 – Time Will Tell._

"I'm gonna go report this in," Pete said, preemptively grabbing his Farnsworth. He scuffed his eyebrows at the bound Helena. "Myka, you watch her. Don't let her—I don't know—use a lightsaber hidden in her tooth or something. You know how these Brits are. Voldemort, he had seven Horcruxes and not one nose!"

"Do you know what he's talking about?" Helena asked as Pete stepped outside.

"Every so often," Myka replied. She sat down atop a desk, her Tesla dangling by her leg. She didn't want to shock Helena—after all the contributions she'd made to science fiction literature, the least they could do was give her a comfortable ride back to be bronzed.

Helena looked around the office. "This place brings back such memories; I had a quite good ravishing on that desk. We had to replace the lamp."

Myka got down from the desk. "Are we really going to make smalltalk?"

"I had you pegged as a literate woman, Agent Bering. Surely, the opportunity to pick the brain of one of science fiction's pioneers appeals to you?"

"'She said, ever so modestly.'"

"Modesty is a male construct designed to obscure a woman's virtue." Helena smiled duplicitously. "Don't you ever get to brag, Agent Bering? Surely, in the future, you get to tell stories of your greatest triumphs while fawning admirers buy you alcohol?"

"I'm not into that sort of thing," Myka protested, pacing now.

"Shouldn't you be? You're an agent of the most clandestine operation in the world. Why not take some pride in your accomplishments?"

"I take pride! I have confidence!"

"In that case, did you remember to frisk me?"

Myka looked to the door suddenly. Pete was undoubtedly getting detailed instructions from Artie. If he couldn't read the manual, he could at least get the inside scoop on his tonsil hockey competitor. Which meant Myka had time to frisk Helena before he came back.

"Not one word," Myka ordered, briskly patting down Helena's arms and legs. Helena hummed contentedly as Myka searched her pockets.

"You know, this is the first time in a century I've been touched. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it."

"Sorry to remind you," Myka said, a little too harshly. Then, apologetically "You're going back."

"I suppose it was inevitable. How could a simple Victorian woman hope to defy the most powerful forces of the 21st century? I'd best tell you now, I have a weapon you didn't find."

"Where?" Myka growled, suddenly on edge.

Helena smiled with a shrug, a bit embarrassed. "Where all women have a hiding place."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"The future is much more profane than I imagined. I think it can be traced to a downturn in education."

"Shut up!" Myka ordered, pulling on an artifact glove. This was just perfect. Saving the world by giving someone the TSA treatment. She needed a vacation.

Helena spread her legs. "Well, you certainly are forward. Simply undo the zipper, love. I'm not wearing undergarments."

"Could you not call me love? I'm just gonna reach in and—"

"I have had it done to me before, agent. I know quite what to expect."

"Right." Myka pulled down Helena's zipper. The woman closed her eyes, as if the sound were music to her. If Myka were Pete, she'd be getting a bad vibe just then. "By the way, thanks for being honest. I'll try to be gentle."

"Oh, do. It's been a little over a hundred years since I had a proper ravishing—"

"Stop calling it a ravishing! It's creepy!"

"You 21st-century woman are so easily disquieted. I'd imagine the 21st century would have successfully distinguished matrimony from sex, leading to an era of free love and polygamy."

"Yeah, well," Myka pulled her glove on tighter. "Maybe the next time you get debronzed. Open wide."

Helena closed her eyes and shuddered when Myka entered her. The sound she made, teeth clasped, air expelled like she was savoring it, enticed Myka to her face. Helena had the tiniest grin there. "Oh, Agent Bering. It has been far too long."

"Could you try not to enjoy this so much? It's just business."

"If this is your business, I'd hate to think what that makes you."

"Good at my job." Myka reached in further, slowly, not wanting to hurt Helena. This time, Helena gritted her teeth.

"Oh, good girl. Be _thorough_."

"Could you not—" Myka started, but Helena interrupted her.

"Don't pretend you're not flattered. I could see in your eyes how you enjoyed handcuffing me. And now I'm at your mercy. Submitting to you. You might as well enjoy it."

"I don't—I'm not—"

"That way?" Helena queried playfully, tilting her head to the side. "Please. In my time, we had to spot such women with nothing more than a look. I've become very good at it."

"I know what I am!" Myka retorted. "I just don't do that with fucking suspects!"

"Then why have you got your hand in my womanhood?"

Myka bit the inside of her lip. Helena had nothing hidden. It was all just a sick game. Maybe an ex-boyfriend had bronzed her. Myka wasn't sure she didn't deserve it. "Because you're a great big Victorian slut and you wanted one last kick before you got bronzed again!"

"True, true." Helena lowered her head towards Myka, her voice dropping. "But why haven't you taken your hand away?"

Myka looked down. Helena was wet and clenched around her, the warm steady pressure practically massaging her finger. Helena was practically gagging for it, under that cool British exterior. It was… not unarousing.

"What could it hurt, Agent Bering? Giving me 'one last kick'? Something to think about for the next hundred years in bronze. I won't tell. Even if I did, no one would believe me. And won't it be nice, when you're old and gray, to think there's still someone who sees you as the goddess that gave them the shag of a lifetime?"

Helena's voice was so low, so awash with innuendo, that Myka could only imagine what it would become in the throes of orgasm. It'd been a long time for her as well. And Helena had it wrong—she was the goddess, full of elegance and beauty that couldn't exist in today's world. And Myka could please her. It was an intoxicating thought.

"What's the matter, agent? Afraid you might like being naughty?"

"This is me being charitable," Myka said, pressing her fingers tightly to Helena's groin. Helena gasped and rode the fingers in. "I'm gonna make you come and then we never speak of this."

"Of course, darling." Helena gasped louder, rigorously out of control, her eyes looking down to her own penetration and then back up to Myka's face as the agent fucked her. "Oh, Agent Bering… what's your name, please, I want to call your name."

"Myka," she said, surprised to find her own voice breathless.

"Such a lovely name… oh, Myka, you are a treasure…" Helena's head lolled back, her sex lazily sucking at Myka's fingers as a brief, decadent orgasm washed over her. "A jewel…"

Myka watched in stunned arousal as Helena let her orgasm carry her away. The way her body twined and writhed against her bonds made Myka wonder what it would be like to see her naked, experiencing the same pleasure. Out of all the wonders she'd seen, the look on Helena's face was enough to awe her. It was so… decadent. Helena completely enjoyed the sex, without a trace of doubt or shame. She submitted to it, controlled it, and seeing her do it heated Myka like an open flame.

"Oh, Myka, my dear Myka…" Helena's grin was so wide that it became infectious. Myka smiled back at her. "I thought the cold of the bronze would linger forever. Thank you for dispelling it, love."

Myka pulled her fingers away and saw the purple artifact glove still on her hand. Immediately, she remembered where she was and what she was doing. Who she was doing. "Don't call me love."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Back to business."

Moving like a whirlwind, Myka zipped Helena up and stripped off her own glove, shoving it deep in her pocket.

* * *

"Okay, kiss McPherson goodbye," Pete said a day later, working the kinks of the mission out of his neck. He looked at Myka. "Literally, in your case."

"There was no tongue! My aunt's kissed me harder than that."

"Yeah, right. 'Oh, Mr. McPherson, let's celebrate.' Where'd you learn to seduce people?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"You did look like a 19th-century Angelina Jolie at the time."

Myka stuck her tongue out at him.

"Hey," Pete said, "speaking of our unsolved mystery, any idea why H.G. didn't kill us? You'd think someone would have to be pretty gangsta to get bronzed, but she left us for the cleaning lady to find."

"Maybe she was just in a good mood," Myka said, working her hand into her pocket. She knew she should turn the glove back in, wash it off, but maybe it could get misplaced.

There was no harm having a memento of her one time being naughty, which she would never, ever repeat.


	2. The second time

_A/N: This story takes place after 2x02 – Mild-Mannered. Myka just got done playing superhero ( . ). Naturally, she meets a supervillain._

Myka couldn't believe she was doing this. Pete would freak out if he caught her. Artie would probably lecture her. Claudia might be a little impressed.

Luckily, none of them would ever find out that there, in the middle of her room, with the lights on, staring at herself in a mirror, Myka Bering was dressed as a superhero.

Not a specific superhero, like Supergirl or Batgirl. She just had on a leather bodysuit and metal gloves. The leather was low-cut. That was it, but apparently enough to get her labeled a superhero. She blamed the X-Men movies.

Myka was just in a good mood over finally getting her stuff delivered and solving a case with no one dying, except maybe some petty criminals who no one cared about. She could afford to goof around some. Next time Pete said she was no fun, she could say "You don't know what I did in that superhero outfit after the trunks were bagged and tagged," and watch his face scrunch up while he tried to figure that one out.

Still, she did cut a nicely striking feature. It was no wonder H.G. Wells had… done things. Orgasm things. Best not to think about that.

"In your satin tights!" she sang into the mirror. "Fighting for your rights and the old Red, White, and Blue!"

What could be less lesbian than Wonder Woman?

Just then, she heard a sound from her closet. It was a nicer closet than her old apartment, walk-in, with a little spinny thing for her shoes, but she still didn't like it moaning. Grabbing her Tesla from its recharger, Myka threw the door open and—

Tripped.

Onto the ceiling.

And saw Helena naked.

Well, not naked. She still had on a rather flattering shirt-vest combo, unbuttoned as it was to allow her to fondle her breasts, which were still mostly contained in the kind of bra Myka would scoff at if she saw it in one of Pete's magazines. If she squinted, she could maybe make out a nipple…

Why was she trying to make out H.G. Wells' nipple when she was Spider-Manned to the ceiling?

"Hello there, Myka." Helena pronounced her name like she was eating a piece of fine chocolate. "Funny meeting you here."

"In the closet?"

"Let's not go there."

With a cute little wiggle, Helena removed seven inches of darkly-colored dildo from—Myka tried not to look. But apparently, since being unbronzed, Helena had discovered the wonders of bikini waxing.

"What are you doing with Black Beauty?" Myka demanded.

"You named your dildo? Well, I suppose it earned it." Helena got up, the tail of her shirt wagging at her hips, and damned if Myka couldn't follow the fall of her hem down her thighs. It'd covered everything just before she could get a good look at it. Not that she wanted a look. She'd just got done not looking.

It was frustrating, was all.

"And to answer your question," Helena said, stepping under Myka and, damnit, giving her a look right down her shirt, "I was warming it up for you."

"Go… warm your ass up!" Myka shouted back.

"Not on a second date, sweetie."

Myka forced herself to calm down. Just because she'd been stuck to a ceiling by Cavorite, her least favorite element, didn't mean Helena had the upper hand. She had to outthink her. "So what is this? Payback for Britain?"

"I suppose you could put it that way. I hate to be a selfish lover and last time, I took all—well, not all, hardly all—the pleasure. I simply mean to return the favor."

Myka laughed. "So you're going to rape me?"

Helena reached up and grabbed a strand of hair that had fallen across Myka's face, pulling it down to her like it was connecting them. "Do you want me to stop? Just scream. Leena will sound an alarm and all manner of Warehouse defenses will be brought to bear on me. Not only will you have preserved your modesty, but you'll have caught the infamous Helena Wells."

"You'd kill me," Myka retorted.

"What have I done to give you that impression? No, Myka. Call out and I'll go quietly. I'll even get dressed first, so you won't have to answer any embarrassing questions."

"Then—it's a trick. You want to get back in the Warehouse for some kind of devious—"

"It's not a trick. I'm simply certain that you want this. You've been dreaming about this. And in all likelihood, you were about to lodge this ridiculous phallus inside your womanhood thinking of me. Weren't you?"

"You're sick."

Helena held up an Artifact glove. _The_ Artifact glove. "Care for a matching set?"

Myka bit her lip. It had to be a trick. Had to be. All she had to do was have incredible, mindblowing—was allow Helena to have her way with her and, bam! She'd have called Helena's bluff. In fact, she could seduce Helena. Helena was clearly hung up on her—why else go to the trouble of masturbating practically under the Regents' noses?

Myka forced a smile. It came particularly easy. "I'd hate for you to have warmed Black Beauty up for nothing."

"Mmm." Helena's approval sounded so goddamned _sexy_. She pulled a second, clean Artifact glove on, dropping the one Myka had used onto a shelf. "Did you know those were once used to treat female hysteria? And you did sound quite out of sorts just now…"

"Yes. Yes I did. Why don't you let me down and we can treat each other? I can't be very much fun up here."

"Don't underestimate yourself." Helena pulled a library's rolling ladder from the back of the closet. "Be prepared, that's my motto."

"It's the Boy Scouts' motto."

"Those cheeky buggers must've stolen it. I'll settle with them later." Helena gave the ladder a push, and it rolled precisely underneath Myka's prone body. Myka gulped. There suddenly seemed something uncomfortably phallic about that large, hard object pointed at her. "Much later."

Helena mounted the ladder. Myka started envying the ladder. "I do like the outfit. Some sort of comic book thing, correct?"

"Don't tell me—"

"I have been catching up on them." Helena stopped on the step just under the one she'd needed to reach Myka. Turning, she leaned on the ladder, and Myka couldn't pull her eyes away from the graceful lines of Helena's throat. God. How could she ever have been lucky enough to have touched _that_? And Helena was talking again, her voice like feathers running over Myka's body. "I do like to keep current on pop culture. I haven't bothered watching the movies though, anymore than I did Shakespeare's plays. Perhaps I'm unsociable, but I've always preferred reading the text to seeing what a hackjob so-called artists can make out of it."

Helena took another step. She was so close now Myka could feel her body heat… no, that was just her own skin, warming up like she'd caught a fever. Suddenly, the leather was all too heavy.

"You're going to sex me up while talking about comic books?" she asked, trying to distract herself. "Did I accidentally fall into Pete's wet dream?"

"Are you so desperate to divorce yourself from feminine sexuality that you'll even bring up your oaf of a partner?" Helena asked, sounding so _disappointed_, like one of Myka's teachers when she'd gotten a B.

"My partner is not an oaf!... some of the time."

"Well. Don't bring him up again, or I shall be cross."

"Oh, what are you gonna do? Stick me to a ceiling?"

Grabbing Myka's stray hair again, curling it further around her hand, Helena pulled Myka's head down with just enough aggression to make Myka gasp but not be frightened. With the same carefully calculated passion, a fastidiousness that Myka found appreciative, _exciting_, she kissed Myka. It had the desired result. When Helena let go of Myka's hair and the agent's head bounced back to the ceiling, she was out of breath. And she hadn't even moved.

"_I'll stop_," Helena threatened coolly.

Myka struck Pete from her mind. It wasn't hard to do.

"Much better, my dear." Helena ran her gloved hand over Myka's face. Wearing them, they'd always just felt stuffy, gummed up with sweat. Touching one like this, on the receiving end, made Myka feel like she was an Artifact Helena was about to take. "Far too much of the average 'graphic novel' is sexist drivel, so it's no wonder your partner enjoys them so. Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to bring him up. I'll make it up to you."

With an impish grin, Helena took hold of Myka's top and ripped it open. Myka's own shabby bra popped into view. Fortunately for her, but unfortunately for K-Mart's quality assurance, Helena tore that away too.

"Christ!" Myka breathed. Helena had never been so… _rough_ with her before. It was… it was just a little… she couldn't quite breathe.

"Gym membership," Helena bragged. "If I wanted, I could just hold you down. Push you down to your knees and force your head to my lap. I didn't think you'd enjoy that but, my sweet Myka, is there anything I could do to you that you wouldn't enjoy?"

"Stop. You've stopped. I did what you asked, you can't stop!" Not that Myka cared. It was just the principle of the thing.

Helena put her finger to Myka's lips, then ran her hands down her throat and over her body. The contrast of the glove's cool plastic and Helena's own hand, soft and warm with fingernails that nipped playfully, was overwhelming to Myka. She wished she could have them just one at a time, all day, spending hours thinking on all the differences.

Well, that would be time Helena couldn't spend plotting evil. Totally justified.

After a brief eternity of Helena almost fetishistically running her fingers along Myka's stomach, taking a perverse glee in a woman having abs, she delved lower. Myka made a sound that wasn't quite a gasp and wasn't quite a whinny as Helena took hold of her waistband.

Helena looked up at her, seemingly touched by the embarrassing noise. Of course, she was some kind of insane murder-y… person. She'd get off on—

Helena stepped to the very top of the ladder, bringing her lips to Myka's. The kiss did more for Myka's lust than being touched anywhere else. It heated her, but cooled her, like she was dropped in water which was then set to a boil.

"It has been a very long time since I've been able to make a woman feel that way," Helena said heatedly in Myka's ear. She pulled Myka's trousers down in fits and gasps, her own motions not supple at all, ragged, urgent. It brought the water to a boil all the quicker. "I assure you, I feel the same way. I wish I could show you. Later, perhaps."

There couldn't be a later. This was a one… well, two-time thing. Myka was a Warehouse agent, Helena was a Warehouse prisoner. And Myka was still mostly, 99%, virtually straight.

She just couldn't say any of that at the moment.

Helena lifted the dildo. Black Beauty had never looked quite so beautiful. She turned the vibrator on, delighted at how it blurred in her hand. "Aces!"

"No foreplay?" Myka breathed, just to say something that wasn't begging for more or demanding she stop.

"Oh, I hardly think you'll need it."

Myka swallowed. That's where Helena put the vibrator, the hollow of her throat. The dull vibration eased into her skin like a massage. It must've been a pressure point, because Myka felt what little guilt was clinging to her break away under Helena's ministrations. Helena moved the vibrator up the column of Myka's throat. It felt warm and a little slick, and Myka remembered where it had been. They were going to share this. It wasn't much, but under the circumstances, it seemed incredibly intimate.

"Where was I?" Helena asked, stroking Myka's cheek. "Comic books. Yes. Comparable to the pulp books of my own time, but with pretty, pretty pictures and overall less shame." She moved the vibrator to Myka's lips and Myka shamelessly opened her mouth.

She was tasting Helena.

Helena took Black Beauty away and Myka instantly wanted more, wanted to taste Helena fresh from the source, hot and running down her lips, her fingers, there'd be so much of it, she'd make Helena come so _much_.

It was a dirty fantasy, even by the standards of what she was doing, but she couldn't think of anything else. Not until Helena spoke again. Her voice was like a manual override for Myka's brain. Nothing else seemed as important as her finely-tuned words.

"There have been a few titles I've enjoyed," Helena continued to muse, as if she weren't moving the vibrator down over Myka's breasts, making her nipples hard enough to sting. "One character in particular, one of the X-Men. A woman, despite the chauvinist name. Emma Frost."

"Yeah, I saw her in the movie. The bimbo, right?"

Helena's mouth twisted in exaggerated disappointment. "I can only assume they got her very wrong. Much like a performance I once saw of Hamlet. You'd think Ophelia's character was sexist enough, but trust me, she can be played moreso." As if in punishment for the interruption, Helena took the dildo away from Myka's breasts. It skirted over Myka's stomach, nearly tickling her. "No, in the comic books, Emma Frost is an exceptional woman. Older than the usual superhero ingénue, completely at ease with her body, willing to use both her intellect and her sexuality to get what she wants, although her intellect is more than enough. And this femme fatale, this devil-woman, is one of the good guys. She even falls for the hero that's the most right-thinking, good-natured, by-the-book rule-follower of them all. She uses traditionally evil means—ruthlessness, ambition, deviousness—to achieve good."

Myka forced herself to ignore the vibrations circling their way to her groin. "If you want to tell me something, say it. Don't make me sit through some convoluted comic book metaphor! What are you, Quentin Tarantino?"

"Certainly," Helena said cheerfully, bringing the vibrator just short of Myka's sex and holding it there, where the vibrations could _just_ reach her clit. On any other day, it would've been enough for Myka.

Today, Myka wanted to come. She wanted Helena to make her come.

"The thing is, Emma has a softer side. She's a teacher, and she genuinely loves children, enjoys teaching them. There's your metaphor. I am ruthless, and I can be merciless, and sometimes even a little… misguided. But there is a part of me that's soft… tender. I want you to know that. You, if no one else. And I want to teach you a little something about being a Warehouse agent. You should always take your pleasure where you can."

She brought the vibrator lower, and Myka had time to hitch her breath before the pointed tip touched her clit. Before she could recover from that, before she could even _think_, Helena moved lower, her devilish smile all Myka could make out in a haze of pleasure as the vibrator entered her. Like she was a chemistry experiment, an invention of Helena's, it took no more than a few drops of solute, a pressed button, to bring about what Helena required of her. Within moments she was shaking and moaning, biting back larger screams of joy. Her orgasm felt like shockwaves from an explosion, hitting her over and over again no matter how she braced herself. Plaster fell from the ceiling in her writhing, dusting Helena's vest. And all Myka could hear, over the sound of her suppressed scream, was Helena's polite-but-joyful laugh as she jabbed the vibrator in and out, in and out, pressuring Myka's body to the limit and then giving her sweet relief, again and again and again.

Then all Myka felt was floating. For a moment, she actually thought the sex was _that_ good, then she saw Helena adjusting a dial in her pocket. She was turning the Cavorite off, lowering her by degrees. Myka hit the cool tile floor and it was just what her overheated, wrung-out body needed. She practically embraced it.

"Well," Helena said smartly, "now I know why so many women want to ride Black Beauty."

She was bending over Myka, touching her gently… Myka sighed as Helena ever-so-softly entered her, almost managing not to arouse her overstimulated pussy. The sigh turned harder the deeper Helena went—it was like the woman wanted to feel every aftereffect of what she'd done to Myka, how wet she was, how warm and open and satiated. Then she took her hand away and stripped off the glove, dropping it in front of Myka's face with aplomb. Myka was reminded of how old-fashioned women had once dropped their handkerchiefs for gentlemen to return. Although, she had to imagine they did it before madcap sex.

"Your matching set," Helena said. "Do you think you could ever use those to 'snag, bag, and tag'? While Artie and Claudia and Pete watch? Knowing what we've done?" She ran a hand through Myka's hair, fondly sighing.

Myka pressed her cheek against the floor and exhaled softly. She should be getting up. She should be grabbing a Tesla and taking Helena in. She should do something. "You should go," she said. "Before someone notices you."

"Yes," Helena said, rising, not even finishing her stroke of Myka's hair.

Helena picked up her trousers with the curt, efficient motions of a commando. Myka recognized them from training. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she never had seen Helena's pussy. Not that she cared, but she looked up and saw a certain moisture, a certain crimson, before Helena yanked her pants up. It made her wonder what would've happened if she'd asked Helena to stay, offered to return the favor.

No, this was Helena returning the favor for Britain. They were even now. Weren't they?

Helena stepped over Myka, and if Myka didn't know any better, didn't know she was the kind of person who could be so terrible as to be locked up in bronze for all eternity, she'd think Helena was… hurt.

"Why me, though?" Myka asked, lifting herself off the ground to look back at Helena, as the woman stood in the closet door. Paused to hear what Myka had to say. "Tell me that."

Helena looked back a little, meeting Myka's eyes and then immediately looking away, focusing on adjusting her cleavage and buttoning her shirt. "Because, Myka, you're what I expected the future to be. Open-minded. Intelligent. Lovely. You're a holdover from a utopian vision, trapped in a dystopia of reality shows and anorexic socialites. I want to build a future with you."

"What… what kind of future?" Myka started to ask.

Helena was out of the room and shutting the door.


	3. The third time

_A/N: This story takes place after 2x07 – For The Team._

It'd been a long day. Peter had been extra obnoxious over not getting to go on a mission, Artie had wanted countless details about her encounter with H.G., and Claudia was still doing victory laps over getting to go on assignment. Myka returned to the bed and breakfast just wanting to kick off her flats and let bed take her, Little Nemo style.

First, of course, she slumped down into her chair to write up her after-action report while the details were still fresh in her mind. She reached for her laptop and—

"Let me get that for you, dear," a voice said. Before Myka could move, her shoes and socks had been taken off, then her feet were soaking in a bucket of warm water. The suddenness of it all felt strange, then intoxicatingly pleasant.

Helena.

"Show yourself!" Myka ordered, grabbing the butt of her gun before she could stop herself.

"Sorry to startle you." Helena materialized, sitting on the end of Myka's bed, wearing the Imperceptor Vest. And not much else. "I thought you should get comfortable before we talk."

"Maybe I don't have anything to say to you."

"I doubt that." She blurred away again and Myka felt something like a strong, cleansing breeze move across her. When Helena was seated again, she was folding up Myka's suit jacket. "The way you shoved me against a wall, your hand at my throat… we really should have a safe word before we play that rough. Things could get out of hand."

"I can't trust you. I was reacting to neutralize the very possible threat you posed."

In the other room, the microwave rang.

"Ah. Drinks up." In another blur, Myka had her hand wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa. Helena smiled at her over her own cup. "Forgive me if you're on a diet, my pet, but you strike me as the kind of girl who possesses a sweet tooth."

"How's that?"

"You satisfy your own needs, even if others tell you they're bad for you."

Myka drank her cocoa. It did taste good. And the water feel good on her aching feet and the sex was great and none of it changed the fact that Helena had… saved her and Claudia's lives.

Myka swore inwardly. It sucked always having to be the mature one. If she were Pete, she'd just bang Helena and leave the mess for Pete-Myka to clean up. It'd be great.

"You disappeared," Myka said accusingly, but in a low voice. In between sips of hot chocolate. "For weeks."

"I needed to sort some things out."

"That's it? That's all you're telling me?"

"How much have you told me, Myka? You haven't said you're not ashamed of this. You haven't said you want to work with me. I don't even know your middle name."

"Trust me, you're better off."

Helena turned the cup around and around in her hands. "I realize how much I'm asking. I have looked into you, I'm not proud of it, but it's my nature. You've lost people."

Myka took a calm drink. She shut out her racing mind and concentrated on Helena's words.

"I know what it's like to have to go on. And I know how hard it is to make that same commitment. So, all I'm asking for is the tiniest, the most miniscule encouragement. Just enough so I can know I'm not dreaming this connection between us. I don't need flowers or chocolates. Just something to whet my appetite. Take the edge off."

"You talk like I'm a drug."

"Aren't you?" Helena shook her head. "I can't stop thinking of you. I do this against my own better judgment. You know how much I risk coming here? I could be bronzed again in a moment if I aroused your ire."

Myka sprang to her feet so fast she overturned the bucket. "I would never do that to you!"

Helena stood up as well. With the both of them barefoot, closing in on each other, it was hard for Myka not to notice how short Helena was compared to her. She felt like an orge, making Helena so nervous, even if that nervousness had nothing to do with physicality. "Then where do you want me, Myka? At arm's length? Or somewhere closer?"

"I don't know," Myka admitted. "I just… I do want you. Not to be bronzed."

Helena looked away, down at the water soaking into the carpet.

"And you would be a great asset to the Warehouse, again, you could help me, you could save a lot of people."

There was a note of disappointment in Helena's voice. "One of us had best tidy that up. I'd hate to throw a row between you and Leena."

"H.G.," Myka said uncertainly. "I'm sorry if I ever hurt you. I never meant for you to feel rejected. I just want things to go slower than they have been. For Christ's sake, the first time we met, you tricked me into fingering you!"

"I gave you an excuse to 'finger' me," Helena corrected primly. "And if you want me to go slower, by all means, name your speed."

Myka picked a piece of lint off the vest. Her hands slowly settled on Helena's shoulders, then slid along her slender but well-defined arms. She stepped closer. Her arms eased around Helena's body, wrapping together, then moving her in to tightly press together with her. Helena finally reacted, biting her lip, her eyes tugged to the line of cleavage revealed by Myka's shirt.

"I do owe you for the grappler," Myka said huskily, feeling Helena tremble to the sound of her voice. "What do you think a fair price would be?"

Helena let her face be buried in Myka's chest by her tightening grip. "Myka… my patience only goes so far… I do have a limit…"

"Do whatever you want to me. I won't say no. You know I won't."

Myka heard a faint growl from the depths of Helena's throat. As easy-going and poised as Helena could appear, the thought had occurred to Myka that she was the exception to Helena's fastidious nature… someone who prompted an intensity in Helena that even the woman herself couldn't control. She had no evidence to back the feeling, but she liked the idea. That she and she alone could complete Helena, driving them both to the ultimate pleasure.

Helena pulled her face away from Myka, looking up into her eyes like she was awestruck. Her voice came, breathy and heated. "For a hundred years I've dreamt of a woman like you. The intervals before weren't enough to satiate me. I stayed away, in part, because I didn't want to shock you with how… vulgar my needs are. I want you. All of you, everything you have to give. Ask me to take it. Ask me and I won't hold back."

Myka hesitated taking hold of Helena's face, spending a moment just gripping her tightly, as if assuring herself that Helena was real. The other woman looked up at her, eyes alive with want. Myka took a moment to stroke her cheek, reassuring them both, before kissing her.

It was like nothing Helena had ever felt before, or something she'd forgotten long ago, in bronze. Everything else, she'd taken from Myka. Bering had enjoyed it, wanted it, but there was a part of her that held back. This was freely given, and all the doubts Helena had had, about revealing herself, about going back to the Warehouse, about Myka… it took one moment to dispel them.

"I'm yours," Myka said, stepping back. "I can't say no to you. I wouldn't even if I could."

Helena adjusted a dial on her vest, smiling. "Oh, how I'll hold you to that."

Without any further warning, Helena disappeared. The next thing Myka knew, she was feeling the cool breeze of the building's air conditioning on her bare skin. Helena had stripped her naked in, literally, the blink of an eye. Helena was back in front of her, one finger outstretched for Myka's bra to hang from.

Myka put her hands on her hips, flagrantly displaying herself to Helena. Helena's wide-eyed gaze was almost comical. She'd seen Myka naked before, but a willingly naked Myka, whole-heartedly offering herself up… it was so much more than just tanlines and bare flesh.

"Yours," Myka mouthed, bringing Helena back to reality.

Another blur, and Myka could've sworn she heard a sonic boom as Helena picked her up and deposited her on the bed. For a moment, Helena slowed enough to take in the sight of Myka sprawled out under her, presented like a sacrifice on an altar, then she blurred again and Myka felt a weight, a heat, at her groin. It was like cunnilingus, but not the slow, drawn-out exploration she'd have expected from Helena. She was lashed, again and again and again, in the course of just a few seconds. Myka barely had time to moan before the first tone of pleasure had grown into an orgasm, and she spasmed as it worked its way out of her system.

Helena slowed, girlishly giggling as she wiped off her chin. "_Aces_."

Myka started to reply, but Helena blurred back down between her legs and the fiery sensation took hold of Myka again. The pleasure was almost painful in its intensity, Helena forcing the orgasm upon her. Her sheer powerlessness actually aroused Myka further—she was utterly Helena's, with nothing more to be decided but how much pleasure she could take.

Helena took a breath, her chin now dripping. "You taste wondrous, Myka. A succulent fruit it would be a sin not to consume. Tell me when to stop, my jewel. I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself!"

* * *

It could've been hours later, days, minutes. All Myka knew was orgasm after orgasm, the sheer ecstasy of it returning her to consciousness, then being dashed again by the next. Helena must've drunk ever drop of come in her. Her overstimulated folds had actually started to hurt, but not enough for her to ask for mercy. She relished being overwhelmed. It was only the rest of her, begging for the same treatment, that made her clasp a hand over her crotch, barring Helena's way.

"I need you," she panted, looking up at Helena. With her hair a mess, her eyes wild, and her lips glossy with Myka's juices, H.G. looked like some sort of wood nymph, a creature of unfettered nature, of sensual pleasure, come to the civilized world to have her way with a fair maiden. Myka wasn't a maiden, and the whole idea of wood nymphs seducing young women had always struck her as a bit creepy, but now she saw the appeal. "I need you all over me."

"Mmm." Helena ran her hand over Myka's body, noting the flush of her skin and the begging hardness of her nipples. "You do indeed."

She kissed Myka's breast a few times, enjoying the way it rose and fell with Myka's rushing breath, before sucking the nipple into her mouth. The experience was heavenly. Relief, and bliss, coupled with the fading ache in her groin—it transported Myka like an opiate. And that was before Helena blurred again, switching between breasts in an orgy of kissing, sucking, and biting, the sensations swirling together to drive Myka wild, pooling in the pit of her stomach before spreading to all parts of her. Myka had come without being touched below the waist.

Laughing, Helena rolled off Myka's saliva-slick cleavage and ran a finger through her nether lips, offering it to Myka. "You deserve to know how sweet you are, my rose."

"You're incorrigible," Myka griped, before obediently sucking on Helena's finger.

"Indeed I am." Helena rolled Myka onto her side, her next words hitting Myka's ear like a lightning strike. "I suppose it comes from always getting what I want."

"What do you want now?"

Helena reached past Myka, to a jar of lubricant on the bedstand. Strawberry-flavored. Like Twizzlers.

"I want you to come again."

* * *

Myka had very, very rarely done anything with her ass other than the obvious. She'd tried masturbating that way once, and actually enjoyed the slow sensation of being stretched and filled, but it was far too time-consuming to be part of her routine. When she was horny, she got off, nothing more.

Helena was the exact opposite. She actually slowed down for once, pressing herself to Myka, her legs warm and smooth intertwined with Myka's, the metal of the vest cold against Myka's back. Helena listened to every groan and hushed exclamation from her tightly-clasped mouth as Myka was penetrated, just one finger at first, then more, three, stretching Myka wide, filling her to the brim. When Helena took one finger away, Myka gritted her teeth the hardest. She'd been so close.

"As I said, Agent Bering," Helena breathed in her ear. "I always get what I want."

She blurred again. The long minutes spent on lubricating and opening Myka paid off, as she only felt the dullest of pain as she was fucked, hard and fast, Helena's entire body vibrating against her with the speed of the Imperceptor Vest.

Myka's eyes rolled back in her head as she started to come again.

* * *

She must have blacked out for a minute, because when she came to, Helena was in the bathroom, washing her hands. Helena looked through the ajar door, smiling at Myka with a fondness that barely suited how utterly (there was no other word for it) fuckable she looked naked.

"Strawberry lubricant. It just gets everywhere. I do wonder if you'll still be able to taste it on me next time."

"What if I want to taste it now?"

Helena blurred once before containing herself, then wiped her hands on the towel. "Now then. If this doesn't satisfy you, I fear nothing will."

That was the last thing Myka remembered. The rest of the night was impressionistic, as slippery as a waking dream. Her breasts were being sucked on, her cunt was being licked, her ass was being fingered, her lips were being kissed—all at once. All the sensations crowded her out, until she wasn't thinking, wasn't feeling, wasn't moving; she was just one big Myka-shaped erogenous zone, and Helena was fucking her.

At some point, she lost consciousness, but she wasn't aware of her orgasms stopping—if they could be called multiple orgasms and not one continuous climax. Her pleasure chased her into dreams, leaving her trembling in sweat and drool as Helena stood over her, her own lust finally satisfied.

Helena kissed Myka on the cheek as she began the slow process of coming down from her sexual high. "It was worth a hundred years in bronze to see you enjoy yourself that much."

* * *

This time, Myka didn't wake up until she heard Claudia knocking on the door. Only then did she notice the sunlight streaming in through the window and her clock radio playing U2. No wonder she'd slept in.

"What up, sleepyhead?" Claudia asked, poking her head in the door. "Artie wants to know if you want Pete to go alone to find Jenna Jameson's panties."

"God, no," Myka said, sitting up.

"Whoa!" Claudia shielded her eyes. "Pardon your cleave!"

Myka looked down. Although Helena had been considerate enough to tuck her in, her clothes were still MIA. She pulled the sheets over herself. "I… took a shower before bed and then I… was really tired, so I didn't… get out of my room."

"Yeah, sure thing Lady Godiva. What's that on your face, though? I'm curious."

Myka felt at her face. Post-It note. She ripped it off and turned it around.

_Dear Myka,_

I had to dash. Had a lovely evening. You seemed a little out of it towards the end, so in case you don't recall, I left a few reminders. Next time, let's make one of those new-fangled sexual tapes.

Yours truly,  
H.G. Wells.

Claudia was still looking at her. "Goodbye, Clauds," Myka called.

Claudia rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her, muttering "Old people."

Myka rolled down her sheet. Post-It notes were stuck all over her body. She picked one off her breasts. _Had the most delightful time wanking myself off on these. Truly spectacular, Ms. Bering._

She had a camera in her desk. If she hurried, she could photograph herself before showering. Then, when she got back from the mission…

How was it that just thinking about _thinking about_ what Helena had done to her could make her tremble? It was like she was in love or something.


	4. The fourth time

_A/N: This story takes place after 2x09 – Vendetta._

It was odd, having to make the mental transition from shameful (naughty) secret to teammate. Girlfriend, maybe. Myka had to double down on her instincts now—she had to stop herself from sharing smiles with Helena, and stop herself from stopping herself from sharing smiles, from throwing Helena against walls and jamming a Tesla in her face. Helena was a Warehouse agent now. They were… official, in a way.

It'd been Helena's idea to keep abreast of each other for the moment. She'd thought it would smooth things over, pretending they were nothing more than acquaintances with common interests, although only a social misfit like Claudia would buy it. And Artie. And Pete.

Leena wasn't telling anyone.

So it came as a surprise a week later when there was a gentle, but insistent knock at Myka's door in the middle of the night. Helena seemed to know Myka had been lying awake, shuffling through the Post-Its she'd taken off her own nude body. Myka leaned in the doorway, relishing the opportunity to be a seductress.

"Am I still your drug?" she asked, to Helena's lazy nod. "Need a hit?"

"Just a reminder. I did help you with your little Ivan problem and was promised compensation. Quid pro quo, remember?"

Myka smiled. "Making you a Warehouse agent again doesn't count?"

"I'm sure all you did was provide a fair and unbiased account of events. Am I correct?"

Myka shrugged. She was pretty sure she had, not allowing her feelings for H.G. to color her report. But then, would it be so bad if she had?

It wasn't a question she asked herself much.

"So," Myka drawled, running a hand down to her hip and knowing Helena enjoyed the trip. "What would you like?"

"A date," Helena replied quickly, raising her chin with a touch of pride. She'd managed to shock Myka.

Myka recovered quickly. "Don't tell me you've found a hot nightspot in Univille."

"There's only one way to find out."

Helena could be so confident. It was actually a little endearing. "Pick me up at eight. And don't think you're getting any just because of the other times. I only do so much on a first date."

"Best not say how much so much is. I'd hate to make a liar out of you." Helena shifted a hand into her pocket. "Well, I daresay that hardly required me cashing in a favor. Perhaps I should insist on a bit more bang for my buck."

Myka hung her head to the side. Really?

Helena took her hand out of her pocket to hand Myka a rolled-up magazine. "Page 54. And don't tell me you didn't keep it. I'll expect you to be wearing that, but I leave the undergarments—if any—to you."

Myka took the magazine. By the time she'd flipped to Page 54, Helena had pulled a Ms. Frederic.

And staring up at Myka from the page was herself, undercover as a fashion model, wearing the dress even Pete had liked.

* * *

Helena arrived promptly at eight o'clock the next day, announcing herself with a polite rap on Myka's door. Myka, for her part, had spent the day rushing through Artie's little chores so she could do a little maintenance. As podunk as Univille was, it still boasted a nail salon, a hair dresser, and a Filipina lady who did painful magic with waxes. It was all worth it when Myka opened the door wearing the dress she'd been undercover in. If she'd been wearing the lingerie she was now, though, she would've been undercover as a very different profession.

Helena stood there, looking for a moment like she'd taken a shot from a Tesla. She was just stunned, biting her own lip to bring her back to her senses. Slowly, she dragged her lip out from between her teeth. "My dear. You're ravishing."

"Not yet," Myka said perkily, hoisting her purse. "You're not so bad yourself."

Although Pete hadn't understood why anyone would watch a Western that didn't have a barfight or showdown every episode, Myka had been a devout fan of Deadwood. Everything had matched so perfectly to what she'd imagined in the books she'd devoured on Wild Bill and Calamity Jane and all the rest. In the second season, there'd been a certain dress that Alma Garrett had worn. Red velvet, buttoned all the way down… hopelessly conservative by today's standards, but Myka had thought she'd looked like a million dollars in it. In 19th century money.

The dress Helena wore reminded her of that to a tee. It was completely Victorian in its cut, concealing almost every inch of Helena's lovely skin, and yet somehow it hinted, dealing in innuendo and flirtation. Seeing Helena fill it made Myka want to pull her inside and rip those bazillion buttons clean off.

Helena smirked beneath her short-veiled hat, easily discerning the effect her outfit had on Myka. "Call me old-fashioned, but there's something to be said for concealing the majority of one's beauty from the world. Revealing it only to a select few." She offered her arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

Their ride was another surprise. Myka hadn't even known Helena had a license; she'd thought Helena was commuting with Claudia (whose fangirling Helena had keenly taken advantage of, turning her into a glorified chauffeur). Yet, parked in front of the bed and breakfast was what was clearly an antique limousine, fully restored, the sleek black chassis gleaming. A silver ornament stood proudly erect on the hood. It even had running boards, just in case Al Capone needed a ride.

"The 1948 Hudson Hornet Special," Helena drawled, her voice dripping with sensuality. She could make a bag of peas sound elegantly sexual. "Five hundred were made. Only ten still exist." She jangled a set of keys from her purse. "Make that eleven."

Myka wasn't a car nerd, but some cars made a geek out of anyone. This was one of them. "How?"

"Royalties, darling. Before my… rest… I made a number of investments in technology I thought would soon bear fruit. My investment firm also had specific instructions to purchase items I thought would be to my liking, for my use when I was debronzed. In its time, this was the crème de la crème of the automotive world. I have more recent vintages, but I prefer this to the kind of car certain men buy as a penile substitute." She opened the passenger door for Myka. It even opened sleekly. "Hop in."

Myka got in. Finally, a car with room for her to stretch her long legs. Taking the driver's seat, Helena looked over as if fervently enjoying the show. "I always found high heels a rather chauvinistic invention, emblematic of an unwomanly catering to male fantasy. But I must say, you make them appear positively empowering."

Myka buckled her seatbelt. "If you don't like male fantasy, you're going to hate what I'm wearing underneath this."

Helena started the engine. Its rumble seemed to run over Myka like an insouciant hand. "In your case, I'm willing to make a permanent exception."

* * *

The restaurant was the first thing that didn't take Myka's breath away at first glance. It was a small, out of the way place, desultory even by Univille standards. The floor was tile like you might expect to find at a school cafeteria, the view was hampered by huge self-promotion blazoned on the windows, and the food was served buffet style. The only service was the hostess who seated them.

Then Helena gentlemanly delivered a full plate of exotic-looking food to her and Myka took a bite. Breath, gone.

"Ethiopian cuisine," Helena announced, tucking into her own plate. "It's not to everyone's taste, but I thought it well-suited to your palate. I did enjoy my sojourn there in my own time."

"How did you find this place?" Myka demanded, only then realizing she had spoken with her mouth full.

Helena smiled and dabbed at Myka's mouth with a napkin. "The old-fashioned way. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I went out, until I found an eatery worthy of you." She speared a piece of something unidentifiable and scrumptious on her fork, offering it to Myka. "I think now might be a good time to define what exactly you do on a first date, Agent Bering."

Myka took a bite.

* * *

When Myka was being driven through town in a classic car by a 19th-century inventor and her dress already had an absurdly high slit, she let her thigh be fondled. Even if it was on a first date.

"You're as smooth as glass, my love," Helena observed, barely able to keep her eyes on the road.

"The 21st century isn't all bad, is it?"

"I should say not." Helena's hand dared to go higher.

"H.G…"

"Under the circumstances, I think Helena would be suitable."

"Helena," Myka amended. "I was thinking we could talk on this date."

"Oh, I do expect you to be quite vocal."

"Not like that. There's so much I want to ask you. The food was delicious, but we barely finished before you hustled me out of there."

"I thought that would be in accordance with your wishes." Helena moved her hand back to Myka's knee, giving it a squeeze before returning both hands to the wheel. "I know how… circumspect you can be. Especially regarding us."

She was pouting now. Myka cooed a little and leaned over to kiss Helena's neck, the only exposed part of her body. It nearly caused a fender bender.

"Helena. You picked me up in a vintage car, wearing the most beautiful dress I've ever seen off a red carpet, and took me to a restaurant you chose entirely to appeal to me. It's all I can do not to brag about 'us'."

Helena's smile could be so cocky. Why did Myka find that adorable? "Not bad for a first date."

"Not bad at all. So, tell me… Warehouse 2."

Helena looked over at her. Her smile had faded. "What about it?"

"Well… how did you find it? You come in one morning, saying you've got a hunch, the next thing I know we're getting a million new old Artifacts shipped in. Don't get me wrong, I love that you're the Warehouse's golden boy now…"

"Golden girl."

"Don't call yourself that, trust me." Myka leaned over again, this time resting her head on Helena's shoulder. The red velvet felt delicious against her skin. She'd have to undress before Helena, see if she could feel it all over. Luckily, 21st-century clothes were a lot easier to get out of than Helena's retro look. "So? C'mon. Brag about your genius. This is much bigger than a grappling hook and you are ever so," she broke into an English accent, "proud of that one."

"It's complicated," Helena said seriously. "Suffice to say, I had a lot of time to think in the Bronze Section. It gave me ample opportunity to narrow down the possible locations. Then, a little legwork with your Goggle Earth—"

"Google Earth."

"—and Agent Wells has proven her worth yet again." Helena tried to force a smile. It didn't work. "I don't like talking about the bronze. You understand."

"Yeah. I do." Myka still hadn't talked about her old partner with Helena. Or Dickenson. She didn't know if she ever would. It felt so good to keep the past out of the future they were building. "But if you ever do want to talk, I'm here. I know it must've been bad-"

"Don't pity me," Helena said sharply, sharp enough to make Myka's head jerk away. "The bronze was like… a waking dream. Years passed in moments. But there was a kind of clarity, in the void of time. Without distractions, I could reflect on anything. On memory, on imagination. My mind was unbound." They came to a red light. Stopped, Helena still couldn't take her eyes off the road. "Christine weighted heavily on my thoughts."

"She's in a better place now," Myka said weakly.

"In which case I've deprived her of my company for a good hundred years." Helena wiped at her eyes before tears could fully form. "Unless I'm greatly mistaken, this is not proper conversation, even in this crude age. I owe you an apology for reducing the evening."

"You never have to apologize to me for what you're feeling. I'm here for you. If there's one thing you need to know, it's that there's nothing you can say that will drive me away."

Helena tightened her hands on the steering wheel. "I may yet hold you to that, Agent Bering."

Myka kissed her cheek. It tasted of tears. "Under the circumstances, I think Myka would be suitable."

* * *

Dessert was a chocolate cake Leena had baked special for the occasion. But one look at Helena running a finger through the frosting and sucking it off her fingertip and Myka couldn't contain herself. She gave Helena on the sharp rap on the ass, leaving no doubt to her intentions.

"Upstairs," she ordered huskily.

Helena picked up her skirts and valiantly tried not to run.

As soon as they were inside, Myka embraced Helena. The red dress made it feel like Myka was holding pure silk in her bare arms. She kissed Helena once through her veil, just feeling the heat of her lips, before knocking the hat to the ground, sweeping Helena off her feet, letting her tongue explore every inch of the smile Helena's been flashing all night.

It wasn't just Helena's body, or her flirtation. It was that Helena had let Myka in, just a little, to the pain Myka had always known she'd carried. As much as she loved the devil-may-care rogue who had hoisted her out of the way of a speeding car with a self-made grappling gun, Myka longed to know the hurting, wounded woman she so wanted to comfort. She wanted to be close to that woman now. She wanted to wipe away her pain, if only for the moment of orgasm.

Myka raised Helena back to her feet, pulling away and pleased to see the normally unflappable woman visibly gobsmacked by the kiss. "So. What now?"

"Oh. I should think a woman of your age would know what it's called by now."

"And that's it? We take off our clothes and screw?" Myka teased right back, smiling as she did so. "With the way you've planned everything else out, I'm surprised you haven't hired Jenna Jameson to give us a tutorial."

"I don't know who that is and I'm sure I don't want to. But, if you insist." Helena reached into her purse and came out with a set of handcuffs dangling from one finger. "I've been meaning to return these to you. Lay down on the bed."

Myka did so, careful not to tear her dress. Thankfully, she ended up lying there like a vision, her gown perfectly falling to hold back a little from prying eyes. Helena could see up her skirt to her groin, but only shadows of it.

"Grab the headboard," Helena continued primly, like a schoolmarm instructing a class. Myka could only imagine how hard it would've been to study if any of her teachers had looked like H.G. Wells.

With a sweep of her hips, Helena circled to the side of the bed, taking Myka's handcuffs and wrapping them around a bar of the headboard so when she clapped them on Myka's wrists, Myka was held with her arms up like a virgin sacrifice in a B-movie. Myka guessed none of those 'sacrifices' had been screaming for the reason she would.

"Not too tight?" Helena asked solicitously, running a hand down Myka's cheek when she said they were fine. She circled back to the foot of the bed, finally pulling her gloves off to let Myka see the fingers that had brought her such pleasure. "I took into account that this is our first official date. The handcuffs put you at my mercy, of course. I do so love that you trust me enough for that. But for my part—I will only do as you ask me from here on. So whatever you want me to do… you'll have to ask for it."

Myka chortled. Leave it to Helena to come up with such a delicious addition to a goodnight kiss. "Why don't you take off my high heels then? These things are killing me."

"But of course, my dear," Helena said, moving quickly to unstrap them. "I'll simply return these to the closet." Leaving Myka alone for an unbearable few moments, she walked primly to the closet, disappeared inside, and came out dusting her hands off exaggeratedly. "Anything else?"

"Yes. My panties." Myka saw Helena stumble a bit, hearing the word. She smiled. It was good to know Helena was as turned on as she was, even if she'd never show it. Not without motivation. "I'd like for you to take them off. They're just so wet, it'd be best if you put them in the laundry immediately."

Eyes hooded, Helena returned to the bed. Myka playfully shut her legs, making it easier for Helena to pull them down. By the look on Helena's face, it wasn't the message she was hoping for.

With the utmost care, Helena took the hem of Myka's dress and eased it upward, eyes wide and searching with every inch of Myka's long perfect legs that she revealed. Myka actually caught the woman licking her lips as she passed Myka's knees. Then they were done; Helena dropped the pooled material onto Myka's stomach and looked down at her panties. When she openly licked her lips, Myka was sure it was for her benefit.

Myka didn't know if Helena was at all used to modern underwear, but even by those standards, Myka's were flaunty. Her panties were basically two thin scraps of material, one in front, one in the rear, and neither of them did a particularly thorough job. Although the part Helena was so intensely looking at covered her entire groin, the top half was translucent. It showed off the upper points of her V, the first sprinkling of pubic hair, but turned black just when things were getting interesting.

Putting her hands flat against Myka's body, Helena took her time in moving her fingers to the waistband of Myka's panties, pulling them down inch by inch. She was pleased with what she saw. Although the woman of Helena's time were often uncouthly hairy in their nethers, she didn't care for the modern tradition of shaving everything pink and bare. It made her feel as if she were meant to lust after the prepubescent. But, like a third encountered by Goldilocks, Myka was just right. Trim, womanly, and best of all, wetter than a broken faucet. Helena hadn't even gotten the panties off before her head was bowed, drawn to Myka as if by magnetism.

"Uh-uh-uh!" Myka crowed, crossing her thighs. Helena could've growled. "Did I tell you to do that?"

"No," Helena replied, tossing Myka's panties in the hamper. She took no pleasure in the perfect shot. Folding her hands, she asked with overbearing politeness "Please, madame Bering, may I lick your cunny until you've had a proper orgasm?"

"Very polite of you, but no. I think it'd be best if you just used one finger for now. One single digit…" Myka breathed, suddenly a little out of sorts as Helena popped her forefinger out of her fist. She moved it to Myka's lips.

"This finger has pressed the button that stopped Edison's murder machine." She traced it down Myka's body, smoothing out that wonderful dress. "It flipped the switch that proved time travel was possible. It's traced hieroglyphs in deepest, darkest Africa." Myka whimpered involuntarily as Helena's fingernail nicked her clit. "And now I'll make you come with it. You can thank me later."

"What makes you so confident?" Myka shot back, before Helena's fingertip stole down her folds and removed her ability to speak with surgical precision.

"Experience, my love."

Helena entered her. Just the first knuckle, but Myka felt like she was coming already. Helena knew exactly how and where to touch her, like Myka's sex was an invention Helena had made specifically for her finger. Its slow delving into Myka kept her perpetually off-balance, always absorbing new pleasure instead of being able to come to grips with the sensation of Helena inside her. Only when she was all the way in did Helena wiggle her finger, giving Myka her voice back just in time to scream.

"T-take it out," Myka ordered, on the cusp of orgasm. Helena nodded and did her best to push Myka over the edge, dragging her finger out over Myka's G-spot. Myka looked at Helena's finger and couldn't believe it was so slender. She'd gotten more sensation out of that than some ex-boyfriends she could name! And it was so wet too… practically dripping… "Now taste it."

"Absolutely, darling. You simply must ask." Helena tapped her finger against her chin a few times. Myka imagined Helena could smell her, her arousal, her sheer want for Helena. Then she sucked her finger all the way into her mouth in one coquettish moment, moaning at the taste as she pulled her finger back out. She laid her hand down on Myka's bare leg, the wet heat of her finger pushing Myka on like a riding crop.

"And how do I taste, Agent Wells?"

"Not Ethiopian, yet hardly unappetizing. What more, my jewel?" Helena asked in high spirits. "Your wish is my command."

"Take my dress off. No," she countermanded, stopping Helena in her tracks. "Rip it off."

"It would be a shame to limit my exposure to such a becoming garment to a single evening," Helena protested, which was her version of a pout.

"We can always use Coco Chanel's sewing needle to fix it. I won't tell if you won't."

Helena shared Myka's devious smile. "I so love watching you employ your intellect."

Myka's smile widened at the compliment before she looked away, blushing. Her attention was drawn back to Helena by the groan of bedsprings as Helena crawled onto the bed with her, somehow limber through the bulky dress. Straddling Myka on all fours, Helena took careful hold of Myka's dress, then tore it open with childish glee. Myka's bra was as revealing as her panties—they were a dark mesh that only solidified over the nipples.

Helena's breath took a holiday. She'd seen Myka naked before, but she never tired of the sight, or lost the capacity to be amazed at her lover's beauty. She ran her hands over Myka's chest in worship before proceeding lower, ripping the dress even further and laying its halves to either side of Myka, torn asunder like a cocoon. That's what Myka was. A butterfly who played the caterpillar, only revealing her beautiful wings to Helena.

"Your bra now?" Helena asked, not sure she'd be able to stick to their game if Myka denied her the last slice of her beauty.

Myka nodded. Her arms shook, rattling the handcuffs, as Helena popped the clasp in front and, soothed by Myka's obeisance, slowed to teasingly pull either cup off of Myka's cleavage and lay them at Myka's sides.

"Lovely," Helena pronounced.

"Lie down on me," Myka said quickly, worried she'd be struck mute again by the look Helena was giving her.

Helena lowered herself onto Myka's body. The red dress felt like lying in the grass at summertime against Myka's skin. It took all Myka's considerable discipline to keep from wrapping her long legs around Helena's body and feel the intoxicating material against her sex.

"May I kiss you?" Helena asked, some of the confidence gone from her voice. She sounded as if she'd shake apart if Myka denied her.

Myka wondered if she could deny the other woman anything. "Always."

"That may be a curse in disguise," Helena said before indulging herself. With difficulty, she pulled away. "Given such permission, I may never stop." She again partook. Myka's cuffs jangled as she reached for Helena but came up short. "I hope you become used to me, for I intend to take advantage of your generous offer for some time to come."

Her passion overwhelming her, Helena cupped Myka's face, feeling the warmth burning in her cheeks as she kissed Myka's well-worn lips. They tingled like they were bruised, and Myka's hands strained against the cuffs to touch every alluring inch of Helena. She could see the roses of her cheeks, the supple turn of her neck, even down into her bodice. All of it demanded to be felt.

Myka sighed and forced herself back under control when Helena finally paused to breath. "I don't want to come all over your nice dress. Take it off."

Helena kissed Myka, one last taste for the road.

"I told you to take your dress off," Myka pointed out, mock-angry.

Helena rolled onto the other side of the bed, her hands now working furiously at the buttons that ran from her throat to her belly. "I shall. But you never said to stop kissing you. Such a lapse could be deadly in the field. As your elder, I feel obliged to teach you such lessons so that you may never forget them."

"Are you my elder? I think I could have a few years on you."

"Then why don't you tell me what Tower Bridge looked like when it was under construction?"

"Sass-mouth," Myka fired off, straining to see over Helena's side as the woman pulled her dress open. Underneath, her undergarments were quite modern, looking very comfortable. Unfortunately, they were also quite modest.

"So, to review," Helena said, desperately removing her garments while trying to retain as much grace as possible. "On a first date, you allow bondage, nudity, French kissing, digital stimulation of your genitals, the ruination of perfectly good clothes… am I forgetting something?"

"I didn't tell you to stop kissing me."

"Very true." Myka had never been kissed like Helena kissed her. It was like Helena's lips held a lost art, like she remembered how to kiss from the time of Wuthering Heights and Jane Austen, and everyone else was just trying to imitate what they'd seen on TV. Being kissed, Myka had the feeling that something of her essence was being drunk while everyone else let it go to waste.

With a final wiggle, Helena was freed from her dress, her body encumbered by only a fetching yet modest set of red lingerie and her gartered stockings. Myka bit her lip and wished she had a camera. No, that she'd taken photography classes. This deserved to be immortalized.

"You're a vision," Myka said. "Is that how the saying goes?"

"Yes indeed," Helena replied. "And I do believe you have another wish left in your magic lamp, Aladdin."

"World peace," Myka joked.

For a moment, Helena's eyes flickered sadly. "Perhaps later. For now… would you settle for me showing you what I did with my tongue to be the toast of the French court?"

Myka set her head back. "I love history lessons."

Helena got up, did a little catwalk to stretch her legs (Myka was sure her hips didn't naturally wag that much), then turned back around. She walked back to the bed and crawled over Myka. She folded so her lower body was in the air, over her bunched legs, slyly wiggling to accentuate the slither of her torso over Myka's legs. Helena's head drifted, supine, to Myka's crotch.

First came a handful of butterfly kisses, prickling the cropped hair of her groin. Then a bittersweet absent, marked only by the rush of air as Helena sniffed her. It was already too much. Then Helena's lips ran over Myka's labia, as if absorbing her flavor by osmosis. Myka felt like she could sob. Helena stopped, the glossy surface of her lips flush against Myka's sex. Then her tongue peeked out and Myka felt a hint of rapture. Just as she'd done with her finger, Helena mischievously worked her way deep within Myka, emerging from her sex with one last, loving lick.

Myka shuddered and wondered how the hell she wasn't coming just then.

"Dear one," Helena began, the sound of her wet lips smacking together driving Myka wild. "Do you prefer your lover's tongue circumnavigate your nether lips, or be so bold as to enter your womanhood?"

"Enter, enter, definitely enter!"

"Indeed," Helena intoned, leaning back in. Her tongue did as promised, tipping into Myka, making her hips rut and squirm to get more inside. She paused again and pulled her face clear. "And would it please you more for me to limit myself to one spot, or shall I divide my attentions equally?"

"Just fuck me!"

"But of course." Helena kissed either of Myka's hips before returning to her sex. Her tongue lapsed into Myka, unhurriedly chronicling each individual inch before moving on, stimulating Myka to painful intensity before giving her respite, but only so the sensation could grow elsewhere. It was maddening. Myka never wanted it to end.

Helena felt otherwise, drawing her tongue back on more and resting her chin on Myka's groin, just north of where Myka desperately needed her. "And shall I finger you as I dine, or would penetration cheapen the experience?"

"Fuck me! Fuck me however you want!"

Helena once more lowered her mouth, this time with her hands resting on Myka's thighs and ready to join in. She stopped painfully short of Myka, so close that when she talked, Myka could feel it.

"There is also the question of your clitoris."

Myka groaned in the utmost frustration. Helena had finally exhausted her patience. Plucking a hairpin from her curly locks, she quickly picked the lock on her handcuffs and, while Helena was still 'innocently' asking her question, Myka tangled her hands in the sadist's hair and forced her between her legs.

It must've been exactly the reaction Helena was hoping for, because within moments, the inventor rewarded Myka with an orgasm as abrupt and satisfying as jamming Helena's face into her sex had been. But Helena didn't let up. She barely slowed. Almost instantly, Myka felt another climax building. When it arrived, she would've fainted, but Helena was far too cunning to allow that. She ensured Myka spent endless minutes in orgasm before mercy moved her to stop feasting on the amazing taste of Myka's excitement. Sated, if not satisfied, (never satisfied), she dropped her head to Myka's stomach.

"Don't stop," Myka pleaded, barely conscious. She twined a finger in Helena's hair. "Finish us off."

Helena couldn't deny her. She threw herself on top of Myka, the other woman nearly gasping at the cool feel of Helena's satin panties on her overheated thigh. Their eyes were inches away, Helena's full of lust, wild and jubilant as she rode Myka. Her thigh between Myka's toned legs gave her no choice but for Myka to flare up again, her breathing labored, her nipples stingingly erect.

More importantly to Myka, Helena panted in long-delayed pleasure, her panties quickly sodden against Myka's leg. Myka didn't know what to do with her hands—it was like her time chained up had robbed her of the faculty. She reached behind Helena and undid her bra. Helena was so quick to help Myka jerk it away from her skin that it might've been on fire. Then she reared up to straddle Myka, giving her a good look at what she'd uncovered. Helena's breasts were like the rest of her: perfect, tempting, and Myka's.

Myka put her hands to Helena's offering and squeezed like they were stress balls after a long talk with Pete. Helena made a sound of pure arousal, like her mouth had bypassed her brilliant mind and opened a line directly to her cunt. She rode Myka harder, her thigh crushing against Myka's sex, both of them bucking so hard that they were always on the verge of slipping off each other, but they stayed connected by the barest margin. Helena's panties, bunched up and sodden, were a smudge on Myka's toned leg.

"Take me, Myka," Helena said, somewhere between ordering and begging. "Take what's yours."

With a growl coming from she-didn't-know-where, Myka flipped on top of Helena. She ripped Helena's panties in two. She jammed her leg between Helena's thighs. She kissed her like it was their last.

"You're only allowed to do what I say," Myka said, her voice unrecognizably lusty. "Come."

Helena made a pleading sound deep in her throat, trapped under Myka's thrusting body, eager to obey.

"Come," Myka repeated, the pressure against her cunt as unrelenting as that she applied to Helena's. "Come." She repeated it like a chant as her body worked tirelessly against Helena's, her mind lost in a tangle of hair and garters and sweat. "For me, Helena."

"Oh," Helena said.

Just a tiny, surprised 'oh!' as her body was lost in rapture, her orgasm overflowing from her, splashing against Myka's legs and soaking the sheets. Her head lolled back, baring her throat for what felt like an endless number of Myka's kisses, each passionate and new. Like a blizzard with no two snowflakes alike. Until finally she craned her neck and, being watched, Myka scooped up some of the wetness from Helena's belly (it had gotten everywhere) and sucked it between her lips.

"Delicious, no doubt," Helena breathed.

"It's not Ethiopian, but it'll do."

Myka fell beside Helena, finally giving in to her tiredness. Helena got the sheets for her, pulling them over the both of them. When Myka didn't protest having a strange woman in her bed for non-sexual purposes, Helena turned on her side to face the woman's back. At first tentatively, then with gleeful abandon at being accepted, Helena pulled Myka into a cuddle.

"Promise we'll do that again," Helena asked, abuzz with excitement. "You simply cannot give me that and then deny me more."

"Tomorrow," Myka laughed, pulled along with Helena's adorable energy.

"Tomorrow morning?" Helena bargained, eyebrow arched.

"If I oversleep," and that seemed likely, it was one in the morning and Myka was still too wired to sleep, "you have my permission to wake me however you see fit."

Satisfied, Helena laid her head down on the pillow beside Myka. Her breath slowly calmed until Myka could barely feel it brushing against her neck. And despite the thousand thoughts and scenarios running through Myka's mind, she found none of them were as important as the arm Helena had draped around her, clenched almost protectively at her midsection.

Sleep came sooner than she expected.

* * *

As it turned out, Helena woke her up with the smell of hot coffee and sizzling bacon. Myka's stomach rumbled her awake and she fell out of bed trying to eat dream bacon. On the floor, she opened her eyes to see Helena in the kitchenette, effortlessly keeping ten things cooking at once.

Myka didn't think she had ever used more than one of the stovetop burners at a time.

"Good morning!" Helena chirped happily, as if Myka hadn't just tumbled out of bed in a jumble of sheets.

Myka owned the robe that Helena was currently wearing, an old Christmas gift, but she was sure she'd never made it look as good as the current occupant was. The silk swept down Helena's body, the opening cinched so carelessly as to constantly shift her cleavage into Myka's view, showing off the still drying moisture of her recent shower. The morning sun backlit the sheer silk, silhouetting her curves. Myka found herself wishing that Helena had woken her up as she'd hinted the other night.

"If that's my robe, what am I supposed to wear?" Myka asked, hiding herself behind her sheets.

Helena laughed. "While I was doing laundry, I laid your robe and slippers out there."

Coquettishly, Myka carried the sheet in front of her to the chair Helena had indicated, before dropping it altogether to pull on her robes. She left herself barefoot. The faded paint on her toenails was another pleasant reminder of her night with Helena.

With Myka awake, Helena turned up the radio, which had been playing gently. Now Myka could make out the tune. Neko Case. This Tornado Loves You. Helena was adapting to 21st-century lesbianism well.

"Laundry, breakfast… not bad for a suffragette," Myka teased.

"I dispute the division of labor that leaves women with menial labor and men with meaningful work, not the necessity of the work in the first place." Helena flipped a pancake onto a plate, offering it to Myka with a dollop of butter on top. "If we move in together, I expect you to do your fair share."

"I was kinda hoping I could rock your world and you could do my chores in sexy gratitude." Myka slapped Helena's ass as long as she was playing husband. "Why didn't you just wake me? We could find other ways to burn off that energy."

Myka sat down in the dining nook, looking out at the lawn. She'd never really noticed before, but Univille was beautiful in the morning. The streets quiet, the grass green… it wasn't such a bad place to be assigned, even without the Warehouse.

Helena sat down across from her, her own plate bearing a slice of Leena's cake. They never had gotten around to it. "You looked so lovely sleeping. Like a Botticelli painting. I couldn't bear to disturb you. Besides, you'll need that rest for tonight."

"What happens tonight?" Myka asked, eagerly cutting into her pancake.

"I leave that entirely up to you."

Myka laughed. "Hope you like beer and foreign films."

"I'm sure I will." Beneath the table, Helena's foot brushed against Myka's leg. "Myka. Say how you feel about me. I would enjoy hearing it."

Myka paused with her mouth full. She forced herself to swallow the partially chewed bite. "Well… I care about you a lot. Obviously."

"Obviously," Helena replied. "Does your heart beat faster in anticipation of the sight of me? Does it grow cold in my absence? Does my touch steal the breath from your lungs?"

"Yeah… that."

Helena stared. Myka set her utensils down. "I like you a bunch, okay? Not in some dumb one-night-stand way, or like a friend, but… a lot. It's just things are going really fast. I don't like putting labels on things that are going so fast. It makes you try to force square pegs into round holes. Right now, I just like being with you."

Helena nodded, a little spastically. "I can understand."

"I don't want to get carried that. That's not me. I mean, you're already talking about moving in together."

"I live next door. Technically, we are moved in together."

"You know what I mean."

"No. Not quite." Helena laid her hands flat on the table. "Myka Bering, my feelings for you are… immense."

Myka hurriedly returned to slicing up her pancake. "I know. Do we have to get into that? I do know. Look, you lost people and you got bronzed and now you're in this new world and maybe you see something familiar in me? But we just went on our first date last night. That's not much basis for a commitment."

"I'm not asking for a commitment. I just want to know that you feel as I do."

"That isn't a commitment? Our first date, Helena… I'm just getting to know you. And I really like what I know, but…"

"And how many dates do you require before your feelings are sanctified?" Helena asked, her voice coarsening with sarcasm. "Must you get Pete's approval? How about Artie's?"

"Don't get nasty."

"I am not being nasty! But have you any idea how much I've come to care for you?"

"If last night didn't show me, I don't know what will!" Myka joshed, a little anxious. Sam had been like this before he died. Giving her presents. Talking about getting serious. So she knew exactly what she'd lost when he died. "I'm here. With you. I want to be here with you and I don't care what anyone else thinks of that. Isn't that enough?"

A tear slipped from Helena's eye. She wiped it away almost instantly. "I've something to tell you… I want to be honest with you, but I don't know how you'll react. It would be so easy to continue deceiving you, yet I find it nearly impossible." She laughed nervously. "I can be so very contrary, Agent Bering. Witness the many times we've met at gunpoint, and now our present circumstances."

Myka felt the ground drop out from underneath her. She had the idea of something formless and terrible looming. Helena had been so sincere, and now the prospect of this was freaking her out. It made Myka worry she was slipping away. Desperately, she reached across the table and clutched Helena's hand. "You can tell me anything."

"Indeed. I would've liked some assurance, but… terribly uncouth of me to insist on trust from you when I won't give it. Terribly uncouth." She dabbed her eyes again.

"You know me. You know I'll be fair, and reasonable, and that I care about you more than anyone." Myka wasn't sure if she meant that no one cared for Helena more than her or she didn't care for anyone more than Helena. "Do you need more assurance than that?"

"No. You're right." Helena stroked Myka's hand with her thumb. "You're a remarkable woman. I trust you to continue being remarkable, even when it comes to me."

Maybe it was another woman, another man. When Myka and Helena had been chasing each other, Helena had had something with someone else. Probably just a one-night stand. Myka would've done the same if she'd been bronzed for a hundred years. That was nothing. Just Helena's antiquated sense of propriety hitting her. Myka would forgive her and insist it was nothing and they would move on. They'd laugh about it later.

"I had such hopes for my daughter, you understand."

"Every mother does," Myka said, already comforting.

"We seemed on the verge of such change. She would have opportunities never available to a woman, even to me. I imagined her growing up smart, and lovely… a singer, a writer, a detective. So many things. I would've been satisfied if she were a housewife, doing domestic duties for a man she loved. But I lived in the worst of all possible worlds. I lost her. I lost everything she would become."

Myka didn't know what more she could say. Helena didn't seem to be speaking to her, but declaiming to her own private world. Like she was in a confessional. She kept a tight hold on Helena's hand, as if the woman would be spirited away at any moment.

"The best laid plans of mice and men," Helena said with a harsh chuckle. "Going into the bronze, I hoped for a better world. And I found one, I did, if only for having you in it. But over the years… bitterness raged in my heart. It was like a nightmare I couldn't awake from. I couldn't distract myself with love or wine. I could only weather the pain. And slowly, even my thoughts turned against me. I wondered what if I still lived in the worst of all worlds? What if I woke up and things had gotten worse? What then?" She finally broke out of her world of suffering, looking at Myka. "I was still a Warehouse agent. I still had responsibilities. If I couldn't save the world, I could at least end its suffering.'

Myka's hand suddenly felt clammy in Helena's. "H.G., what did you do?"

"It's not what I did. It's what I could've done. I did think of Warehouse 2, but not as some… intellectual exercise. Because I knew what it contained. The Minoan Trident, Myka. It gives its possessor the power to shake the continents, and if I had used it at a specific point…"

"Helena," Myka insisted, squeezing her hand. She had to know.

"A supervolcano, Myka. Another ice age."

"You would kill billions."

"Yes, I realize that now. But all I had was pain. You can understand the pain. One will do anything to make it better, won't they? What you must understand is what dissuaded me. You, Myka. You restored my hope in this world. You were so kind to me, so understanding… I had forgotten people could be like that."

She raised Myka's hand to her lips, kissing it. The moment her lips touched, Myka pulled her hand back.

"You would've killed—" Myka couldn't even imagine it. It would be worse than all the Artifacts she'd recovered put together. "You want to kill damn near everyone and I'm the only one stopping you?"

Helena shook her head desperately. "No, no, you were the catalyst for my transformation. I see now how unspeakable such a thing would be, thanks to you."

"How close did you come?" Myka demanded. "Were you still planning it when you came to me, in this room, where I live, and made love to me? Or when you joined the Warehouse again? Or last night!?"

Panic flashed in Helena's eyes. The words spilled out of her like blood from a wound. "I couldn't go through with it now even if I wanted to! That's why I gave you the location of Warehouse 2! Half of the Trident is there, it's not even usable without its mate! I left that with my daughter's tomb, you can put it in the deepest, blackest corner of the Warehouse if you like!"

"You had it set up before you were bronzed? Even then, you were planning this?"

"It was a contingency plan!" Helena protested. "One I have no use for, one I'll never have use for!"

She'd never answered Myka's first question. That evasiveness under the guise of trust, of love, made Myka see red. She grabbed Helena's wrist again and twisted it. Helena squeezed her eyes shut in pain, although Myka doubted her tears had anything to do with that.

"How close?" she asked.

Helena made no effort to break free. "I knew I would need help to get into Warehouse 2. That's why I made overtures to you. But you convinced me I could really come back! The world isn't beyond saving! I'm not beyond saving!"

She reached out with her other arm, trying to caress Myka's face, like she had when they'd first met, when they'd become friends, when they'd made love. Myka ripped herself away. She didn't know Helena. She'd never known her. She wasn't sure she wanted to anymore. In fact, part of her wished fervently she didn't so much as know H.G. Wells's real name.

Even Sam had only died. He hadn't killed the part of her that loved him.

"Get out," Myka said, her voice on the verge of frenzy. She never lost her temper. It hurt.

"I love you," Helena said, frantically wiping away tears that wouldn't stop coming. The sobbing entered her voice and rendered it as unrecognizable as the rest of her. "You love me too, I know it, I've felt it. You don't have to admit it, I'm sorry, you never have to say it, but please… please…"

"Get out of my room!" Myka screamed. "I trusted you, I stood up for you, and you've been using me all this—" She pointed to the door. She couldn't say anymore.

Helena rose, watching Myka's face for any trace of mercy. She saw nothing but the deathly quiet stare Myka met her with. Her hands moving unsteadily, Helena tied off her robe. "I'll return this to you post-haste, of course."

"Keep it. I don't care."

Helena moved to the door, but she couldn't force herself through it. She looked back. Myka was gripping the table so hard it could've been the only thing holding her up.

"Think of me," Helena begged, her voice dry and cracking. "You'll see everything's as I said. Just… try to remember."

"And forget this?" Myka looked up at her. Her eyes were turning red with tears. "How can I?"

"I'll be in my room if you've anything more to say to me. I hope, when you've calmed, that you can… good day, Myka. Thank you for last night."


	5. The last time

"By the power of Grayskull!" was all Pete could say when Myka told him. He took her slugging his arm like a man.

It hadn't taken long for Pete to realize something was wrong. Even though Helena had only been with them a short while, he'd gotten used to her outrageous flirting with Myka, and Myka's often-fake scandalized response. Then he came into work one morning to find a cold front on. Helena, who'd always had so much vigor and pluck it wasn't hard to imagine her building her steampunk gadgets with the same excitement as a kid racing in a soap-box derby, was suddenly a ghost of her former self. Despite Claudia's best efforts to cheer her, she drifted through her days doing nothing more than inventory and maintenance, not raising one crossed word when Artie froze her out from active duty.

And Myka was worse. He was used to his partner being a wet blanket, but never so volatile. It was like she was personally offended by people being cheerful. She snapped at the others' joking without an ounce of good humor, she yelled at suspects at the slightest provocation, and Pete had to work hard to stop her from Tesla-ing a McDonald's guy who said they were out of coffee.

It was like all of a sudden, he was working with three Arties.

Since he and Helena still weren't close, although he would've loved to be after the tongue action in London, he went to Myka, braced himself for some military-grade scorn, and asked her what was up with her relationship.

Myka denied the whole thing, of course, but the fact that she'd used more four-letter words than a game of Scrabble gave up the lie. Slumping down into her chair, Myka started at the beginning. Pete crossed his legs and resolved to steer well clear of the Larry Flynn wheelchair that fed on inappropriate thoughts. Then Myka got to the part about destroying the world. Suddenly sex, even kinky lesbian half-British-accent sex, was the last thing on his mind.

"We have to tell Artie."

"No, no," Myka said certainly. "I've thought of that. He'll jump at any excuse to bronze H.G. again, you know that, he wouldn't even shake her hand!"

"Okay, okay, okay, no Artie. But, dude, what do you want to bet she has a Plan B? Maybe if she can't destroy the world, she'll settle for Australia? And all that stands between her and Australia is a bout of depression. Oh, and you broke up with her."

Myka grabbed her armrests and propelled herself up into motion, furiously pacing through the Warehouse. Pete had to catch up with her and shepherd her away from the Dark Section.

"I just… I can't…" Myka grabbed her hair like she wanted to pull it out by the roots. "I know everything you're going to say and I agree, but I just can't."

"You love her," Pete said slowly, like he was stepping out on a ledge.

"I can't lose her. It's not the same thing."

"Well… would it hurt this much if you didn't love her?"

"Argh. Argh-argh-argh!" Myka stomped down another hallway and Pete followed, frantically scanning the labels to see if any of the Artifacts could be set off by lesbian angst. "Can we just… get rid of this? Find Sigmund Freud's pocket watch and make me forget this ever happened? With her, I was so… I didn't know I could feel that way."

"We're better off knowing this. We need to do something to… you know…" Pete shook his head. Myka didn't need a plan to put a bell around Helena's collar. Clearly, this was a bit more personal than the end of the world. "Look, you trusted her, right? Even back when you thought she was Bronzed for good reason. Maybe, I dunno, maybe you were right then and you're right now. Do you know for a fact she would've gone through with it, even without you getting all Bound with her?"

Myka stared at him.

"Jennifer Tilly, Gina Gershon, Wachowski Brothers' last movie before The Matrix? Not a bondage joke."

"No, Pete, I don't know if Helena would have had second thoughts about the apocalypse!" Myka erupted, hands flailing like he'd stolen her lunch from the fridge. "She's kinda unstable, in case you hadn't noticed from her idea of breakfast conversation!"

"Okay, great, we get her a good psychologist, do some crisis counseling, she's fine. Isn't that how all those Lifetime movies work? You're a chick, you should know this."

Myka hugged herself tightly. Pete made it all sound so simple. "And then what? I go back to her?"

Pete nodded. It seemed like what she needed to hear. "If you want."

Myka didn't lift her bowed head. "She was my first since Sam."

Myka didn't like to be touched, at least not by him. But sometimes, she really needed to be. Pete pulled her into a bear hug. "Trust me, there aren't that many good-looking girls out there with a side-order of brains. If she's not the one, you'll find someone else. People do it all the time."

"And who'll she find?"

* * *

Pete had never seen anyone so good at getting themselves under control. Myka took a moment, regrouped, scrubbed her eyes, fixed her hair, and focused on the job, even if the job was just cataloguing a few things from Warehouse 2.

Pete couldn't focus, knowing his best friend was in an 'It's Complicated' with the closest thing they had to Dr. Doom. He'd always had bad vibes about Helena. Lately, they'd slacked off a bit. That'd never happened before. He was thinking that maybe Helena was just a player and Myka was going to end up walking in on her with another woman—maybe a Frenchwoman and an Aussie, for that accent trifecta—but now it looked like his vibes hadn't been messing around.

He had to tell Artie. Myka had pretty much said she didn't trust H.G. either, and as much as he wanted to give her a fair shake, this was way above his paygrade. What if he got a major vibe just in time to find out she'd ix-nayed Africa? Besides, Myka and her seemed pretty donesies. So really, it would be irresponsible of him not to kick this up the ladder.

* * *

The first hint Myka got was when she went to Helena's room—not to apologize, just to check up on her, that was all—and saw the Regent agents bagging and tagging her things. The beautiful first editions of her books that Myka had gotten her as a housewarming present, the towering stack of Post-Its she'd bought so she'd never run out, the dozen cell phones she was disassembling to tinker with. All of them went into cold, sterile plastic, like dead things at an autopsy.

She ran outside in time to see Helena on the bench, bound hands in her lap, like she was waiting for a bus except for the guards on either side. "Where are you taking her?" she demanded, though she knew the stonewall was coming.

"Any pertinent information will be released to your supervisor," one of them said.

"Get out. I want to talk to her."

The guards looked at each other. Or maybe they just turned their heads at the same time. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.

"I'll take full responsibility. And look at her, she's not going anywhere. You can guard her just as well from over there."

"Frederic said to extend courtesies," one said to the other.

"You have five minutes," the other said to Myka.

They got up and walked out twenty paces, leaving Myka more or less alone with Helena. And for a moment, Myka wasn't sure how wise that was. She looked at Helena and felt shame. Not the piteous feeling she got for not living up to her standards, for eating a Twizzler when it was full of sugar. This was like what she'd felt for Sam's killer, but directed inward.

She sat down beside Helena, busying herself by looking at her handcuffs. They didn't seem to be on too tight, so at least they were comfortable. At least there was that.

"I'm sorry," Myka said quickly, suddenly wondering how much time they had left. If they would ever have any more time. "I never meant for this to happen. I just told Pete and… I needed to talk to someone, that was all, I didn't want this!"

"Didn't you?" Helena looked at her. She wasn't crying. She wasn't doing anything. Her eyes were so hard, so cold, that they might never have been unbronzed. "Now you're rid of me and you can blame Artie, or Pete… Leena, for all I care."

"I'll get you out of this, I swear, I'll make them see—"

"Should you?" Helena's eyes softened a bit. They looked down at her hands. "I don't now recognize who I was when I came out of the bronze. There was so much anger, so much pain. Who knows what I'll be when I emerge from whatever fresh hell they've fashioned, now that they can't trust me with you?" She smiled, lopsided.

Myka hugged her tight, trying to squeeze enough love into her to last that long. "I have feelings for you. You were right. I was too scared to tell you what they were. I do feel… whatever you feel."

"That's enough, that's enough—" One of the guards was back. He pulled Helena away, forcing her to stand. A black Range Rover was coming up the street.

"You said five minutes!" Myka said. Her voice cracked as she said it.

"Ride's here now," the guard said piteously. He shoved Helena to the curve as the Range Rover came up.

Helena looked over her shoulder at Myka, frozen to the bench. "The world never does live up to my expectations. Even when all I want is a measure of peace and someone to share it with. Goodbye, Myka. Thank you for… for what you had to give me. It was more than I should've expected anyway."

* * *

After that, Myka went on missions partnered with Claudia.

* * *

It took a week of dreamless nights, as if her subconscious was punishing her, but Helena returned to her. Myka was lying awake, trying to just run through the day's events like she had always used to, but her mind kept returning to Helena and that last, horrific look on her face as another loved one disappeared from her life. Not even by being taken from her, but by betrayal. And then the door opened.

Myka looked over lazily, expecting Pete, apologizing again. It was the middle of the night, who else would bother her? But the silhouette was unmistakable. Helena lingered in the doorway for a moment, backlit by the dim light, gathering herself, before coming in. The door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness, and Myka frantically groped for the lamp.

"H.G.?"

"Agent Bering." Helena's cool tone weakened, warmed. She was coming closer. "Myka."

Myka got her fingers on the lamp's dial and turned it up. It was her! Helena stood before her, crisply tailored suit hugging her body, her arms locked before her, her body language all twisted up. But she couldn't hide the smile on her face when she saw Myka.

"No," she said, reaching to turn the light back off.

"What are you doing here?" Myka asked. "Did they let you go? Did you—"

"Does it matter?"

Myka wished she could just give in and say it didn't, but she was still an agent. If she wasn't, Helena never would've gone. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't." Myka got up, kneeling before Helena on the bed. Helena being there seemed more impossible, more wondrous, than anything she'd ever found in the Warehouse. She reached out a hand to touch her, to make sure it wasn't some cruel trick, but held back at the last instant. What right had she to so much as hold Helena's hand after what she'd done?

Helena, sensing her distress, took Myka's hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her skin felt pleasingly cool, like moonlight. Myka's brain couldn't stop racing, zooming through the story of Psyche and Cupid. Psyche had loved Cupid and come to her each night to show his passion, asking only that she blow out the candles before he arrived so he could keep his godly identity secret for a little while. But, misled by bad advice and her own insecurities, Psyche had lit a lamp while Cupid slept beside her. Even as she had fallen even more deeply in love with his beauty, a drop of wax had fallen to awake him, and they'd been separated for long years, Psyche having to eventually go through the underworld to get him back.

Myka would go through hell for Helena. She was the only bit of heaven Myka had ever found.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Myka said, running her hand over Helena's face. Everything was as she remembered it. She put both hands on Helena's shoulders, as if holding her in place. "I was scared, Helena. I fucked up."

"It's alright," Helena assured her. She cupped Myka's face in her hands and eased her down to fit against her chest, only then adding her arms around Myka's back and hugging her tightly. Myka could've melted into her. Her face felt warm where it pressed against Helena's breast—Myka imagined it was her heart. "Don't cry, it's quite alright. You were trying to do the right thing. It's one of many qualities I find most admirable in you."

"Forgive me," Myka said, both hating herself for sounding so pathetic and needing an answer more than she needed air.

"Always," Helena said. "Can you forgive me? For betraying your trust, then having the audacity to feel insulted by your reaction—"

Myka slipped out of Helena's arms and kissed her. Helena's lips warmed quickly against her own. "Never talk about it again. It doesn't matter. There's nothing to forgive."

"Myka," Helena said, her face splitting into a smile. She pressed her forehead to Myka's, glorifying in the simple fact that they could again touch each other, look at each other. Myka was doing the same. "I know it'll sound bold, but I can't bring myself to care. May I stay?"

Myka threw the sheets off her body. She remembered she'd been wearing something like this the night before Sam had died. Her blouse, the same remnant of her business suit, and a pair of boy-cut panties. She cast the thought aside. She couldn't stay in the past with Sam anymore, not when Helena had given her a second chance at a future.

"Always."

Myka drifted back against the pillow, her hand sliding over Helena's arm until it was at her hand, holding on, linking them. Helena gave into the pull, straddling Myka. She put Myka's hand on her thigh and used her own fingers to work at the buttons of her jacket, exposing a vest underneath. The tweed jacket Myka helped her out of reminded Myka of several professors she'd had. As Helena undid the vest, Myka teased at her bowtie.

"You look like you should be giving a lecture."

Helena smiled, slipping the vest down her cotton shirtsleeves. "Would you like me to teach you something, Agent Bering?"

"Everything."

Helena snappily undid her bowtie, but left it dangling around her neck. She took Myka's hands, gave them a squeeze, and then left them at the collar of her shirt. Myka went along happily, slowly sorting each button through its holes.

"Many deserts," Helena began primly, running her hands through her hair to release it from its bun, "go for years without rainfall. But not forever. When it comes, the entire ecosystem is centered around that precipitation." Helena pulled the hem of Myka's shirt out from under her legs, pushing it back until it pooled under Myka's breasts. "Flowers bloom. Animals mate. Cacti store water. And predators hunt." She reached down, her hand brushing over the crotch of Myka's panties. "The desert becomes wet and rich with color. It's actually quite beautiful. It's called the flowering desert." Her fingers bored into Myka.

Myka gasped. She was halfway down Helena's shirt and pleasure she wasn't ready for, would never be used to, electrified her. Lit up, she ripped the shirt open. Buttons clattered through the room, making it sound alive. She reared up, nearly toppling Helena from her perch on Myka's legs, and ripped open her own shirt. Unlike Helena, she didn't wear a bra.

"I'm yours. Have me. Please, have me."

Helena leaned back, baring her throat, letting her shirt slide away from her like useless inhibitions. When she craned her neck back to Myka, it was so she could see the look on her face as Helena opened her bra. "I already have you, Myka. And I do intend to keep you."

They embraced. Myka remembered something else about moonbeams. They felt exquisite on bare skin.

"I'd like if you were naked," Helena said. "Completely."

Her voice opened Myka up like a caress. She couldn't disobey. She couldn't want to disobey. She shed her shirt, her panties. She laid down before Helena like she was posing for a picture. And Helena looked at her like she was painting one in her head, letting the paint dry in her memory before moving over Myka, smiling as the other woman wrapped one long leg around her waist.

Helena pressed against Myka, at first softly, letting her used to all the different feelings—the warming suppleness of her skin, the cool leather of her belt at Myka's belly, and lower… the wool of Helena's trousers feeling perfect between Myka's legs, coarse but not rough, teasingly nipping at her secrets. Then Helena went harder, her hands sinking into Myka's hips, forcing her into the feeling. Myka was overheating. The friction was burning out of control. And no matter how she pawed at the sweat-slick skin of Helena's back, she couldn't get enough of it.

More than anything, Myka needed to share this with Helena. She couldn't take without giving, not tonight. "Let me—" she began, sliding her hand between their bodies, to the straining muscles of Helena's belly. Helena stared into her eyes, anxious and pleased. "Let me—" Myka begged once more, her hand pawing open Helena's belt buckle.

"Yes," Helena said, and she couldn't stop saying it as Myka's hand dipped into her trousers, breaching the cool satin of her panties. "Yes, yes, yes…"

It was when Myka felt her own hand pressed between them that they came, Myka first, then Helena, screaming out for both of them like she was feeding off Myka's orgasm. The next time Myka felt her trousers, there was a vast wet spot in them. With a gleeful chortle, Helena rolled Myka, her breasts swaying beautifully as she settled beside her.

It wasn't enough for Myka. She could never make Helena feel loved enough, and she could never have enough of the woman. She could only manage her addiction. And now, she could only give in.

Rolling on top of Helena, hopelessly tangling the sheets around them, Myka put her smile against Helena's. "Please, Helena. Say my name. It feels like it's been a lifetime since I've heard you say my name."

Helena petted Myka's hair easing her down so her ear was at Helena's mouth. "Myka. Myka Ophelia Bering."

"No. Say it… like you say it. Like only you say it."

Helena took her hand off Myka's head, making it easy for her to meet her gaze. "Myka. My jewel."

Myka bent down and kissed her, just a peck, not wanting to stop the words she formed—the only thing sweeter than her lips.

"My dear, dearest, dear one," Helena said teasingly, and Myka teasingly kissed her throat.

"My fire." Helena's voice quickened with lust as Myka kissed her breasts, detouring on her downward journey to lavish the perfectly formed flesh with attention. "My wine."

Just as Myka was becoming engrossed, Helena ran a finger through her hair, twisting it along a curly lock. "My heart."

Myka smiled and ran her face down Helena's belly, stopping only to kiss her belly button.

"My queen," Helena continued, her voice serene now, her hands resting on Myka's head and neck with a simple, comforting grip. "My goddess. My love."

Myka could smell her arousal now, old and new, and needed to taste it. Needed to show her devotion as plainly as she could. She stopped to look up at Helena, her eyes shining with loyalty and forgiveness. Myka eased Helena's trousers down, the open buckle dragging over Helena's scintillating flesh as if marking a trail for Myka.

Impulsively, Myka surged up to kiss Helena's lips, properly this time, feeling the moan she provoked rattling in Helena's throat. She pulled back, cupping Helena's face, and her moonlit lover felt as warm and real as a fireplace on a winter's night. All that was left was for Myka to say how she felt.

That was when she woke up. As always.

In the morning, the dreams always melded into sameness. A feeling of longing, of regret. She was so used to it, she sometimes didn't register she'd dreamt. But asleep, she knew every moment. Each night, she dreamt of sharing the day's events with Helena. Even the rare lazy day was rewritten with her. Her meticulous mind had turned against her. Each detail was exact, her memory of Helena so precise that it was as if the woman had been resurrected whole.

If she were dead. Myka didn't even know that much.

The worst dreams were when she imagined them making love. It wasn't the flirty promise of their first date. It was slow and tender, wild and joyous, even painful in its animalistic intensity. But Helena always made her feel loved, safe, whole. No matter how Myka begged the shade of her to stop, to let her forget,

And Helena laughed and held her and made her warm. And Myka felt a comfort she didn't deserve.

"Helena," she whispered in the morning air, the sun's harsh and merciless revealing of her empty room. She whispered, knowing if she shouted at the top of her lungs for the rest of her life, it would never reach Helena. She could only hope Helena, with all her brilliance, had already figured out what it had taken her until it was far too late to discover.

"I love you."


	6. Bastille Day

Claudia really didn't get what was going on. Everyone had seemed fine. Everything had been fine before Helena came, but then she had joined the team and Myka didn't seem so lonely anymore, so that was awesome. And Helena gave Claudia the _best_ tips on make-up, since she was rediscovering them too. Adolescence spent in mental institution, century spent in cryogenic suspension, what was the diff?

Then suddenly Helena went away and all Artie would say was that she had proved untrustworthy. What, Claudia asked, was she pawning Artifacts for gold or something? No, she hadn't _done_ anything, she was just untrustworthy. Because that made sense. She was part of the team. How could you just throw away part of the team like she was a Bic pen out of ink? Helena was a fountain pen, the kind you refilled over and over again, not the kind of pen that had "Sue's Mammograms 'n' Stuf" emblazoned on the side. You kept her.

Just to make things even more super-extra-awesome, Pete and Myka weren't talking to each other. They were all "Pass the sugar" "grunt." Claudia had heard they were like that before she got there, but no matter how hard she pried, she couldn't figure out how Pete had hit the reset button on their friendship. And it had to be Pete. As if Myka would mess things up.

Claudia was just coming up with an extra-brilliant scheme to get everyone to be friends again, pooooossibly involving bowling, when Mrs. Frederic paid her a visit. The natural way, stepping out of the shadows when she was on a three-hour computer binge.

"Ah!" Claudia cried, jumping up and nearly fumbling her laptop off her lap. "Not when I'm tumblr'ing!"

"Ms. Donovan," Frederic said, naturally skipping the part of the conversation where she apologized for being Batman. "You're the closest thing I can find to a neutral party in all of this."

"All of what? Is this about H.G.? Is she okay?"

"Ms. Wells is fine. She wishes to speak to you."

"Oh. Cool. Like, over coffee? I don't drink coffee, but I could go for a Danish."

Mrs. Frederic set her valise on the table, opening it and sorting through as if she were conducting an autopsy. "H.G. Wells was planning to destroy the world. She considered it a kind of mercy, given the state of civilization. Naturally, the Regents didn't agree. She claimed to have abandoned her plan, which is why she told Agent Bering about it. Bering consulted with Latimer. Latimer told Artie. Artie told me. And I had no choice."

"So… wait…" Claudia's head was spinning. If she didn't know better, she would accuse Mrs. Frederic of being a troll. H.G. punching Ctrl-Alt-Delete on the whole planet? "H.G.'s in jail?"

"A Regent holding facility, for people with unacceptable information on the Warehouse who need to be handled."

A thought hit Claudia. It skipped her brain and headed straight down her spine. "Are you bronzing her again? You can't! We all think about doing horrible things! A guy cut me off in traffic the other day, I thought about filling his iPad with kiddie porn, but I didn't!"

"The Regents and I agree that to bronze H.G. would be… excessive. Her current status is in a kind of flux. For now, it's been decided that she be allowed communication with the outside world."

"Outside—what's the inside world?"

Mrs. Frederic didn't answer. She took something the size of a kickball out of her valise. It looked like a steampunk Pokeball. "This serves as Helena's access to you. Twist the dial on the top all the way to the right to summon here. Twist it all the way to the left to dispel her once more. I'm putting you in charge of her communications. I trust you to remain unbiased in your application."

"Yeah, sure, of course." Claudia took the Pokeball and started fiddling with it immediately. She twisted the dial, but not all the way. "Wait… she's not, like… Spam or anything, right?"

Mrs. Frederic looked from the Pokeball to Claudia. "It's merely a conduit, not storage. Think of it as a cell phone."

"Alright," Claudia said, turning the dial around. "So why not just give her a cell phone?"

The Pokeball lit up, a ring on the surface glowing, and Claudia dropped it. Helena appeared, gave Claudia a heartwarming look, and tried to speak. All that came out was static. She looked perturbed. Claudia scrambled to pick up the Pokeball and stand it up straight. There were little kickstands…

"Claudia? Can you hear me now?" Helena asked, that beautiful British accent coming through loud and clear.

"Absolutely, chief!" Claudia looked around to thank Mrs. Frederic, but she was gone. Natch. "What's up, Helena? Are they treating you okay? Do you need a file in a cake or something? Do you get cakes?"

"I'm alright, Claudia." Helena braided her hands together. She looked okay… wore a simple maroon dress that looked better than any of the scrubs they'd had in the asylum. Not that she needed it, but she didn't have any make-up on. Maybe they let her have it, but she didn't bother. Ouch. "I would like to first assure you that there's no call for worry. The Regents are treating me quite fairly. It's been nice to have some time given over to quiet—I have a hundred years of reading to catch up on."

"Oh, great, cool, groovy, you can read Jurassic Park," Claudia spouted sarcastically. "_When are they letting you out?_"

Claudia instantly regretted letting her mouth run away with her. Helena looked like she'd just been poisoned.

"That is… a matter of some debate. I doubt there's much I can do to sway them in either direction, unless they're impressed by literary criticism. Let's not talk about me, it's unbecoming. How's the Warehouse?"

"Oh, it's great. I mean, everyone's angry at each other and there might be an evil Warehouse going after evil Artifacts, but, ya know, business as usual."

"And Myka?" Helena said, her voice so carefully still that Claudia knew it could only be an act. "She is… proceeding apiece?"

"I have no idea what that means, but she's not seeing anyone else."

"Claudia, Mrs. Frederic did explain the situation? You can hardly expect us to pick up where we left off, were that even possible."

Now Claudia knew what kids felt like when their parents got divorced, although in her case it was more like her cool aunt and big sister had broken up, only not incestuous. "She misses you. Ya know, in a Myka way. She's not doodling your name on her notebooks, but you're on her mind. Even I can tell, and I'm not Miss Emotions 2011. Like, she gave me all your books, and then she asked for them back. Who does that?"

Helena managed a laugh. It sounded so sad, being transmitted through a holo-projector from God knew where. "But she's well?"

"Yeah. She's… she's Myka."

"Good. And I trust, of course, that you and Pete and Artie are also… copasetic, I believe the word is?"

"Yeah. Super-duper."

Helena's eyes were darting around instead of meeting Claudia's gaze. She was ready to end the conversation. Claudia imagined she would look the same way if someone brought up the asylum.

"Hey, Hel," Claudia said, packing as much warmth into her words as she could. "You do what you have to do to get out of there, okay? Come back to us. I'll do what I can on my end, but come back. Everyone misses you. Well, not Artie, but he's old, all he misses are eight-track tapes and wearing onions on his belt."

"I would certainly be open to that," Helena said, with a cursory nod. "May I ask a favor?"

"Anything."

"Don't mention this to Myka. I'm not… up to speaking to her at the moment."

"But she'd want to talk to you. She'd really want to talk to you."

Helena looked at Claudia with eyes utterly drained of sentiment. "Perhaps I don't want to talk to her."

* * *

Claudia tried to draw Helena out of her shell. Every day, she'd switch the Pokeball on and have a chat with Helena. Sometimes, she caught her reading a book or lying down in a bed that disappeared as soon as Helena stepped away from it. But Helena was always there, every hour of the day. Something about that depressed Claudia.

She tried her best not to bring up Myka, but it was hard not to notice that Helena didn't shy away from the name. When Claudia went over the latest Warehouse action, Helena usually had a proud smile when hearing Myka's actions. It was cute, in a lovey-dovey way Claudia never went for.

She brought up the subject of Myka sparingly—stuff like "Myka's dying to talk about the latest Hunger Games casting" or "It's Sam's birthday today, Pete's trying to cheer her up." Helena never took the bait. The only thing that roused her was Claudia describing their latest case. As soon as Helena heard about Jericho's Horn, her head shot bolt upright.

* * *

"So, guys, I got a lead," Claudia announced to the team, holding the Pokeball behind her back. Not that it was necessary, since none of them knew what it was. She set it on Artie's desk, then thought better of that and put it on a chair.

"What, Optimus Prime's testicle?" Pete asked.

Myka didn't laugh even more than she hadn't before the break-up.

"It's, uh… okay, so promise you won't get mad. Mrs. Frederic kinda… gave me H.G."

Myka was the first to respond. "_What._"

"It's like a cell-phone!" Claudia said, gesturing to the Pokeball. "See, I can—"

She twisted the dial too far in her excitement and Helena appeared, smiling to greet Claudia and then seeing her surroundings, the people—Myka.

She recovered quickly, deliberately turning her back on Myka. "Hello, children. I take it Claudia's appraised you of the situation."

"Not as such," Artie said brusquely, sitting down like he was determined to be unimpressed.

"Put simply, I've been allowed to speak to Claudia from my imprisonment, and we were going over your current case when I recalled similar circumstances during my time with Warehouse 12."

Steve, choosing to ignore the stony silence on all sides, offered his hand to Helena. "Hey. Nice to meet you. I'm Jinks. Everyone calls me the new guy. I'm new."

"So was I." Helena callously swiped her hand through Steve's, her hologram fritzing back to normal as she held her hand up. "Well, judging by the ratio between your pointer and ring fingers, you're a declared bachelor, as they say. It's good to know you're not replacing me in _every_ capacity."

Seeing how Myka winced at the jibe, Pete turned red. "So you're just going to help us out of the goodness of your heart? What do you get out of it, Hannibal?"

"I fail to see how I compare to a Carthaginian warlord," Helena replied evenly.

"He means…" Myka started, and then faltered. There was something intimidating in how Helena was resolved not to look at her. "It's a pop culture reference."

"Ah." Helena focused like a laser on Pete. "To answer your question, you seem to assume I'm still committed to my plan to restart civilization. And as tempting as that is at times… I gave up on it a long time ago. In any case, to allow a handful of people to die would do nothing for my old goal. It would merely be sadism. I trust we can all agree _that_ is beyond me. It wasn't me, after all, who welcomed a woman back to the bosom of the Warehouse, only to spit her back out when I found she entertained dark thoughts."

"Dark thoughts?" Pete barked. "You wanted to go Death Star on the planet!"

"And if I had limited the scope of my destruction to simple suicide?" Helena demanded, finally losing her temper. Her voice scratched on the way out. She looked at Pete, but not quite at Myka. "That's what it was, in the end. A desire for ended pain. If I had told you such thoughts had a hold of me, but that I had conquered them, would you strap me down to keep me from harming myself? Or would you react with a modicum of grace and humanity?"

"You want a cookie?" Artie asked.

"Alright, can we just _stop it_!" Claudia cried. "Whatever she's done or didn't do or… _whatever!_ She wants to help, now, and we need her. So maybe we could just listen for five minutes and _then_ go back to burning her in effigy?"

"Claudia's right," Myka said quietly. She was folded neatly into a chair, one leg pulled up to her chest and held in place by her arms, like she was hiding. The sight made Claudia feel sick to her stomach. Myka was strong and brave and nice. She deserved to be happy.

"Thank you," Claudia said. "Helena, if you could just…"

"Gladly." Helena again fitted her hands together protectively, as if she could ward off the stares she received just by squeezing her locked fingers. "You see, in 1893, my latest invention was to be a rocket. All that remained was to find a suitable power source. Unfortunately, I had trusted the wrong person. A fellow Warehouse agent and lover of mine, who I had taken into my confidence, betrayed me, using Jericho's Horn to transform my vehicle into a weapon of destruction. Fortunately, in that case, I expected the betrayal and was able to counteract it. But unfortunately, the old saw is true. Those who don't learn from history…"

The rest was lost in the sound of Myka slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

"We've gotta get her back," Claudia told Pete, on the way to de-Artifact the current nutjob. Myka partnered with Steve. Always.

"What, Helena? Yeah, that pesky world demolishing thing can just be her way, like sneaking other people's food out of the breakroom. 'Oh, that H.G., got us again!'"

It really sucked that Pete got to drive the car. Made it hard to hit him. "Helena didn't screw Myka up, Pete. We did. Well, you did. But we bring Helena back and everything's hunky-dory."

Pete shook his head like someone was offering him Canadian bacon pizza. "She had her chance."

"Yeah. She did. And then the Regents took it away!"

"We can't trust her," Pete said. "End of story."

"Yeah, well, we don't need to trust her. We need Myka back. And to get Myka back, we need Helena."

"Even if I wanted to, it's impossible. Not even Artie would go for it."

"Then we'll start with him."

* * *

"No, no, absolutely not," Artie said, even willing to use a computer to avoid the conversation. He typed at the keyboard like he was a movie hacker and managed to change the screensaver. "End of discussion. H.G. Wells is not a Warehouse agent."

"Told you," Pete said, leaning against the wall, presumably to carry Claudia out of the room in case she had a spaz attack.

"She helped out with Jericho's Horn!" Claudia protested. "She didn't have to, but she did. Would you have done that if you were locked up?"

"I wouldn't have been locked up!" Artie replied, now managing to play and lose Minesweeper and Solitaire at the same time. "Because I like the world. I wouldn't try to destroy it. I feel the basic job criteria for someone working to save the world, as we are called upon to do at times, would be not wanting the world to blow up. That's our chief goal. The pay is nice, but it's no real substitute."

"She _doesn't_ want to blow up the world anymore! You can make her swear on a stack of Bibles or pinky-swear or sign a loyalty oath. Or, or we could make her curator. No going into the field for her, just helping out around the Warehouse! She knows these Artifacts like the back of her hand!"

"So your grand plan to make it impossible for Helena to hurt anyone is to put her in charge of the largest collection of powerful objects in existence? I don't think so."

Claudia slapped her hands on his desk, shocking him away from the pop-ups he was trying to close. "Myka is hurting. Even if she weren't totally gay for H.G…"

"I'm not hearing this," Artie said.

"What, like it was a big deal when Jack and Rebecca did it? They were here, they were queer, how are you not used to it?"

"Whatever-_dalliance_-Agent Bering had—"

"Helena made her happy," Claudia said, steamrolling on before she could shake from interrupting Artie. "And Myka would want her to be happy, even if they weren't together. She can't live with herself knowing what she did to H.G. So we have to make it right."

Realizing Claudia wasn't getting out of his face anytime soon, Artie turned to Pete. "What do you make of all this?"

"I, uh… don't get any bad vibes off H.G."

"You didn't get any bad vibes off that chili cheese dog you found in the back of Leena's fridge last week, you still spent Tuesday on the toilet."

"Thanks for letting me in on that," Claudia said. "I love knowing what guys talk about when I'm not around."

Pete stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Much as I hate to admit it, if I had known how much H.G. meant to Myka, I never would've told you. Helena never did anything wrong. All she did do was ask for help, really, and maybe I've been in AA too long, but that's a good thing."

Claudia shook her finger at Pete. "Exactly! We still have time to make this right, Artie. We're the good guys. We're supposed to help people. This is exactly the moment when we need to be trusting, optimistic goody-two-shoes, not like when I want to use the time machine to stop the Star Wars prequels from being made."

Artie sighed. "I'll talk to Mrs. Frederic. But if Wells ends up destroying the world, don't come crying to me. I'll be on the moonbase."

"We have a moonbase?" Claudia asked.

* * *

"The Regents have anticipated your request," Mrs. Frederic said from the shadows when Artie got home.

He jumped. "Did you creep through a window? How is it not easier to just knock on the door and say hi?"

Mrs. Frederic continued on. "Several among our number have been impressed by the commitment Agent Wells shows in her therapy sessions, as well as her insightful literary critique. If you believe your team is capable of working with her, we believe she's capable of working with them."

Artie was caught short. He almost wanted to protest, but there was Myka to consider. He'd had his chances at happiness, and squandered them on his own. No one had taken them away. Not like he had done to her. "There'll need to be precautions."

"I'm aware of that." Mrs. Frederic dropped a leather bracelet on counter. "Gandhi's sandal strap. It's absorbed so much concentrated non-violence over the years that no one who wears it can harm another. You hold onto it. I don't like having it on me."

"What if Helena—?"

"You'll also be watching her, of course. And we've attached a chip to make sure she doesn't take it off. But if all you've told me is true, then we needn't worry about it at all. Take whatever other precautions you deem necessary. But remember, she is part of your team. If we wanted her to be a prisoner, we'd leave her right where she is."

* * *

Myka came with them, naturally. It took a plane trip, a bus ride, and a rented car, but they reached the Regents' prison. It was a split-level house in the suburbs. When they parked in the garage, the floor sunk down for ten minutes until they reached a cave.

Myka was stunned at how little the cave had been excavated. There were just a series of bars they had to be let through. Other than that, it was dark and cold, barely even lit.

"I remember these," Artie said. "Sitting Bull's cave paintings are here. The man who discovered them ended up trying to scalp the Cleveland Indians, but we can't remove them because they're cultural treasures. Guess the Regents finally found a use for this place."

Avoiding the veiled corners covered by yellow caution tape, they passed three more gates and came to a tent like a medical quarantine. Inside, there were six glass cells. The furthest one had a small shape in it.

"There aren't any other prisoners?" Myka said haltingly, the unease she'd felt ever since coming in making its way to her mouth. "Who does she talk to?"

"We gave her a transmitter," the Regents' man said, keying them into the tent. "She's been talking to you."

All eyes turned to Claudia. "She never said anything. I thought she was, like, in the Village, I thought the most she had to worry about was big white beach balls!"

The Regents' man finished punching his code into the door. As soon as it unlocked, Myka had pushed her way through. She didn't run, but walked in long, brisk strokes that carried her further than most _could_ run, until she was pressed to Helena's cell, her hand against the glass, begging Helena to notice her.

Helena had her back to Myka and the door; sitting on the bed, her face was buried in a book like she was leashed to it. But she stiffened under Myka's gaze, not turning any pages.

Claudia showed up, tapping her hand on the glass. "Hey! H.G.! Guess who!"

Helena exhaled, set her book aside without marking her place, and rose. She didn't look like hell. She just looked drained. No make-up, no shampoo, her clothes a simple T-shirt and slacks, barefoot. Even her toenails were unpainted. Myka had never seen her look less than glamorous and now she was the Before picture in a late-night ad.

Myka stepped back, next to Claudia, the hand that had touched the glass coiled at her side. "This is where they keep you?" Myka demanded. It was easier to focus on the prison than the prisoner. "You can't even see the sun."

"I don't need the sun," Helena said. The voice was a dry rattle in her throat. She filled a cup from the sink and drank. Her words regained some edge. "I wasn't expecting company. I would've tidied up."

"No need," Myka burst. "We're taking you away."

Helena's only response was a laugh. She smothered it in another drink.

"I'm serious," Myka said. She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, small as it was. "You know me, I'm always serious."

"Then am I dreaming?" She asked so harshly it was like torture. "I always seem to wake up from dreams about you."

"Hey, guys?" Claudia tapped on the glass like Helena was a really big goldfish. "I hate to can all the lesbian drama, but maybe this One Tree Hill stuff can wait until we leave. I'm just saying, I doubt this conversation would be so emo if you were having it over Starbucks. I'll pay, I'm willing to take out that loan."

Helena offered her hands to them like a criminal waiting to be cuffed.

Artie, who had been hanging back, arrived. He brought the key to Helena's cell. Used it immediately. "You will not go on solo assignments. You will not be paired with Agent Bering. You will not be allowed onto the Warehouse floor unsupervised. You will wear this at all times." He set the Gandhi on Helena's desk. "Put it on when you're ready to leave."

"Oh, stop, Artie, it's unbecoming, you being so lascivious in your old age." Helena picked the Gandhi up and twirled it around her finger. "No. No, I think not."

"What d'ya mean, 'no'?" Claudia asked the last word in a dumb voice, then slapped both hands against the glass. "I know Artie's giving you a curfew and not letting you have boys in your room, but it's a start."

"Of course. Note how he's warmed up to you." Helena nodded to the death glare Artie was giving Claudia. "You think you're all so merciful, letting me redeem myself for something I never did. Well, I'd prefer being in here than going out on a leash like a dog to piddle. At least here, it's quiet. No one judges me. No one lies to me."

"When did I lie?" Myka asked, heartsick. She threw the cell door open, but couldn't go inside. So she just stood there, transfixed by the sight of Helena, not through glass or holographic signal, but close enough to touch. It drew the anger out of her like venom from a snake bite. "When did I lie?" she begged.

Helena finally faced her. Everyone could see the toll it took on her. For a moment, Helena seemed so old she might never have been bronzed. "You said I could tell you anything."

Myka looked away the way some people bit down on a bullet when they were being operated on. "There's a limit."

Artie had been backing away. Claudia hurried him along. "We're just going to fill out some paperwork. There's probably oodles of paperwork."

Neither woman noticed. Helena drew up to Myka like she couldn't pull away, but might try to. "That's just it, Bering. I've spent my entire life limited. I hid my intelligence, my sexuality, even my grief. Do you think the Warehouse would've allowed an emotional female in its employ? I had to play the merry widow while my little girl was in the ground, down where I couldn't get to her, couldn't save her!" Helena's body shook with the force of the sobs she was holding back. "And you tell me—you _told_ me—that I don't have to be alone anymore. Now I'm here." She dropped onto the bed. Only her hands moved. Shaking. "I'd rather stay here than wait to find out what you'll do when I fail to live up to your expectations once more."

Myka stared at her until she couldn't take the callous way Helena was splayed down anymore. She took a step inside the cell, pushed herself away. "I tried."

* * *

Helena had just started to cry, hot, angry, impotent tears, when Claudia came running back. "What, what, _what_ are you doing?"

Helena wiped her eyes hurriedly. "_Nothing._"

"Because it _sounds_ like you're staying in jail just to get back at your ex. I was in the nuthouse and even I think that's kooky. Let's get out of here, you can just key her car or whatevs."

Helena sat up to face her, gathering her hair into a bun to occupy her gesturing hands. "I'm afraid I can't expect a woman of your years, even a brilliant one, to understand."

Claudia divebombed onto the bed next to her. "Oh, bull_shit_. You're brooding here like Brad Pitt in his tent."

"Achilles."

"Whatever!" Quick as a switch, Claudia spun down onto the ground in front of Helena, kneeling before her. "The thing is, _I get it_. My brother was the only family I had and when I lost him, I blamed Artie. I hated that fat sack of fail. But we worked together, we fixed it, and now… I have a place. I _belong_. You could belong too."

Helena shook her head. Her hair came out of its bun, dropping messily around her shoulders. "Who's to say I don't belong here?"

"Me, for one. And who says you do?"

"The Regents," Helena said with a shrug.

"Aw, since when do you care what the cool kids say?"

"I am a 'cool kid'."

"Ditto." Claudia jumped up and offered her hand to Helena. "So c'mon, let's team up and rule the school."

Reluctantly, Helena gave her hand over, clamping the Gandhi across its wrist. "How do I look?"

"Let's just say I'm into males and well-het, and I'd touch you inappropriately."

* * *

Helena walked through her room. No, not her room. Leena's room. This was just another place she could sleep, like the prison. Not different at all, and she hated the warmth she felt, surrounded by her paintings and books and furniture, the little world she'd started to build so she could bring Myka in and lock the door behind them. She hated that she was still weak enough to need it.

There was the knock at the door. Myka. Helena just knew. And she hated that they had to knock at each others' doors and really think before answering. "Come in," she said at last. It couldn't hurt worse than it already did.

Myka wore a turtleneck and knit pants, flip-flops, not too dressy and not too comfortable. She had her hands stuffed in her pockets. Helena couldn't tell if they were fidgeting or fists. "Hey."

"Hello," Helena said. She dusted her fingers off on her vest. She wasn't sure why. "Myka."

"H.G." Myka smiled nervously. "Is it alright if I call you Helena?"

"It is."

"Good." Myka nodded a little, now biting her lip. "Can I come in?"

"Not afraid to be alone with the nefarious criminal?"

Myka didn't take the bait. "You can even close the door."

Helena did, as soon as Myka had come in. "Sit. Please." She'd set up two chairs by the fireplace, slanted towards each other, with a little table in between, inlaid with a chessboard pattern. They could play a game or just set down a tea tray there. Helena and whoever sat with her.

Helena sat down across from Myka, pulling her arms in around her. Myka tried to strike a neat posture, crossing her legs, balancing her hands on her knee. She looked at Helena and it all fell apart. "I don't know what to say to you."

"No, I expect you don't," Helena replied, not sure what she wanted to hear.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?"

Helena took a long look at her, not allowing her eyes to skirt away but focusing on the woman. The worn lines of her face, the out-of-place strands where her hands had run through her hair over and over again, the way her lips turned downward as a matter of course. "I loved you."

Myka squirmed like a butterfly on a pin. "Is that all?"

Helena clenched her teeth until it hurt. She closed her eyes. "I want you to stay." She opened them again. "But you can't."

Myka's hand was jammed up against her face, the heel scrubbing at her eye for a moment, eradicating something. "Give me your hand."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Helena held out her hand.

"The other one."

The one with the Gandhi.

Helena presented it, thrusting her prison in Myka's face. "There it is. Unmolested. See how trustworthy I am?"

Myka pulled it off. While Helena was still gaping at her, Myka stuffed it in an Artifact bag, then wrapped another around Helena's wrist. A perfect replica.

"I do trust you," Myka said. "That one doesn't work. You can hit me, if you like."

"I'll take your word for it." Despite herself, Helena felt a thrill at being cared for, trusted. It was far too late, far too little, but it sparked something deep inside her. She had to kill it quickly. "What does this change, exactly? I already knew you were sorry."

"I guess it doesn't change anything," Myka said, standing. Holding the Artifact bag to her chest. "I just wanted to make up for what I've done."

Helena didn't tell her the truth, as she left. That would be cruel. To tell Myka she could never make up for making Helena feel the way she had… and then leaving her feeling the way she did.


	7. I Will Survive

"Just admit it, I'm getting good at this."

Helena looked down at the tea Myka had brought her. It wasn't quite the exquisite flavor she had endeavored to recapture since being unbronzed, but there was something to say for variety. It wasn't unpleasant either, like Myka's first attempts. It was simply hot tea.

Ever since she'd gotten back to the Warehouse, Myka had been trying to make Helena feel at home while still keeping her distance. Claudia was running interference, Artie was keeping his mouth shut instead of openly attacking her, while Myka brought her souvenirs from assignments and meals from Univille. Helena needed them, since she often spent her nights in the Warehouse, bringing the work up to code. It wasn't the best way to avoid Myka, but it was all she had.

"It's quite adequate, thank you."

Myka couldn't beam at the tepid response, but she still offered Helena a polite smile. Holding up an Artifact bag, she shook its contents at Helena. "Wanna help me crate this?"

"I'm not allowed down on the floor, remember?" It was all Helena could do to keep sarcasm from dripping off her last word, but if Myka was going to be nice, there was no reason she couldn't be. She was of breeding, after all.

It worked, as Myka didn't show the least sign of being discouraged. "I promise to keep you on a tight leash. C'mon. You need to stretch those legs. How long have you been sitting in that chair?"

"I like this chair," Helena replied, giving herself a spin. "It rolls."

Myka giggled, killed it, and offered her hand. "Come on. Up."

Helena got up, but didn't take Myka's hand. They got all the way to the Edison's rail system before Helena spoke ("So you only want me for my bio-energy?"). Sitting next to each other instead of facing each other, both hands on the bar instead of gesturing or touching, Helena felt at ease enough to talk.

"What was the Artifact?" she asked abruptly.

"Linda Lovelace's dildo," Myka said matter-of-factly. "Pick it up and it feels like it's… yours."

"Seems harmless enough," Helena said. "I suppose an archival like that provides a clue to the gender of most Regents."

"And what would you use it for?" Myka asked, glancing over at Helena through her bangs.

Helena didn't respond to the straight line, kneading her fingers on the Edison's bar. It took a minute for her to look over at Myka again, see her again. "I can't do this. You know I can't do this."

"I know you want to. I know one day, you'll want to so much…"

"I don't want to get hurt," Helena said curtly. She tried to fight it, but her voice broke toward the end. The sadness in her voice cut into Myka, reminding her once more of how Helena had been hurt, just like she had.

Myka might have broken off, if she wasn't sure she was the only one who could stop Helena's pain. She let go of the bar and the car grinded to a halt. "I'm sorry for what I did, but how can we live without each other, feeling the way we do? Maybe you can be bitter and alone, but I can't be. I can't give up on you. So take as much time as you need, but don't ask me to stop feeling this way. Don't you think if I could, I would?"

Helena's fingers were white knuckles on the bar. "Put your hands back. Let's move on."

"Look at me. Tell me one thing I can do to make you happy."

"Put your hands on the damned bar, Bering. That will do."

Myka slapped her hands on the bar. The car jolted back into motion. She had to say something, but she didn't know if it would be a rejoinder or a love poem. Then she looked at Helena's face.

"Helena. You're crying."

Helena kept an iron grip on the bar, letting her tears fall where they may. "Can you blame me?"

Myka took her hands off the bar, turning Helena's face toward her and thumbing the moisture from her cheeks. With Myka's hands holding her face, all Helena could manage was a sniffle.

"I am here," Myka said. "I know I wasn't before, and I'm so sorry because you needed me. But I'm here now."

"I do appreciate that," Helena said, soft as air. "I just can't…"

"I know. I'm sorry. I know. So I'll just wait."

"Myka, no…"

"I've decided. I don't want someone else. I want someone brave and smart and amazing and beautiful. I want you. I'm willing to wait. If it takes twenty years, you'll see how I feel."

Helena grimaced before one more tear could emerge. "Hands on the bar, Myka." 

* * *

They put the Artifact away, and Myka didn't protest as Helena wandered the halls. As long as she was supervised, it was fine. So Myka followed her, like a puppy, occasionally trying to draw her in by detailing an Artifact or asking about one that Helena clearly recognized. Helena was strangely silent, though. Not cold, as she could be, but deep in thought. She offered Myka wan looks whenever the woman tried to open a dialogue with her.

Finally, they came to a particular shelf Myka recognized from staring at from the inside of a mirror. "And here's where a man-eating serial killer took over my body."

"That only happens to me near liquor cabinets," Helena replied. Myka could only offer a sincere smile at Helena's spirits raising. She didn't even protest as Helena grabbed an Artifact screen and scrolled through it. "Studio 54's disco ball. Simply give it a spin and it strips away inhibitions, leaving only raw, naked desire."

Somewhere along the line, Myka had started finding Helena's sauciness almost as adorable as it was seductive. It was all she could do to keep from hugging the Englishwoman, touching her in some way. She hoped she got the chance before the desire faded. "I don't think you've ever needed an Artifact to have that effect."

"Have I not?" Helena turned to Myka, still clutching the screen. "Agent Bering, I have a proposition."

Myka piqued an eyebrow. "You should know by now how open I am."

Helena's smile was weak, but there. "If you accept, I'll give us another chance. If not, we call it off. You respect my wishes and move on to… I don't know, Pete if you like."

"There's no need to be insulting."

"I don't trust you. I can't, because I don't know what's in your heart. If you truly love me or—" Helena broke off, sucking her lips in for a moment before raising her chin like a prize-fighter inviting a shot. "Use the disco ball. Rid yourself of your inhibitions, your civilization, your armor. Let me see the real you."

"You want me to use an Artifact for personal gain?" Myka repeated.

"I didn't say I wanted you to use it. I merely stated a condition you would fulfill to win me back, which is what you claim to want. If you're not up to it, it's no business of mine."

"I need time to think."

Helena finally gave in to the bitterness welling up inside her. "Think as much as you want, Myka. You're so good at it." 

* * *

As seemed her lot in life, Helena was torn. She regretted forcing Myka's hand, putting such cold terms on their relationship. Yet it felt right, slipping out of purgatory into either reconciliation or a clean break. She honestly didn't know which way Myka would decide. Therein lay the problem.

The one thing she didn't expect was for Myka to choose so quickly.

She returned from the Warehouse, brushing off Leena's attempts to be cordial, crawled up the stairs and into her room. As soon as she'd opened the door, another presence disturbed her. She wasn't permitted a Tesla, so Helena simply settled into a fighting stance, padding inside before the intruder could tell she knew something was amiss.

"Shut the door," Myka's voice came, firm as steel, "and lock it."

Helena rounded the corner to see Myka seated in her favorite chair, a wingback she'd imported all the way from Italy. "It's late, Myka. I haven't time for this—the latest round in our détente—and a full night's sleep."

Myka smiled insincerely at her. "Close the door or I'll fuck you out in the hallway where everyone can see."

Helena would've gasped if she were less of a lady. Myka didn't talk like that. Ever. "The Artifact."

Myka said nothing, only tilted her head to the side. Her smile was a bit more genuine now.

Helena closed the door and secured the lock. She walked back into the main room with Myka—this new, dangerous, exhilarating Myka—and pulled up a chair. They regarded each other across the room.

"What are you thinking?" Helena asked.

"Wouldn't it be boring if I told you?"

"Give me a hint then."

"What's the magic word?"

Helena couldn't keep a tinge of excitement out of one simple word. "Please." As much as she loved Myka for being so incorruptibly good, the fact of the matter was that she'd also always been attracted to the mad, the impossible, the craven. People were no exception. Just the way this Myka sat sent a warm tingle down her spine. It'd been so long since their interactions hadn't been stained with shame and betrayal. This was so close to a fresh start it terrified her.

Myka tapped her fingers on her leg, hitting the book sitting closed in her lap. Once Helena had noticed it, Myka flipped it open. She read, her voice sliding over every word like a faint caress. "'In his bedroom, Freddy and I made a most risqué discovery. Our clothes removed, bodies half-hidden by candelight, he entreated me to lie across his knee like a naughty schoolgirl. Ever willing, I acquiesced, and he paddled me as if I were a very naughty schoolgirl indeed. In the context of the boudoir, however, the most exciting metamorphosis took place. My pain was transmuted into a new and daring pleasure, such that I could not be dissuaded from pulling away from his embrace after but a minute and mounting him as the jockey does the horse, much to his consternation. It took him a while longer than I had to come around, an unfortunate failing of the male gender I should think, but he quickly grew to see the potency of my new hierarchy. We crossed the finish line neck-and-neck, and so were enjoined to try the race again, armed with this pleasurable alchemy of pain into sexual bliss."

Despite her willingness for these new circumstances, Helena felt a stab of offense. "That's my diary! It is private!"

"Relax, Helena." Myka tossed the book to the ground, where Helena was mollified to see it fell closed. "I didn't read the parts about me. I may be uninhibited, but I'm still a woman. Really, I just wanted to know what made you tick. And you tick quite a lot, don't you?"

"I enjoy myself. I wish I could say the same for you."

Myka checked her watch. "Disco isn't dead for another ten hours. A night of dancing. I intend to enjoy myself a great deal." She undid her belt, the unneeded length of leather springing free from her buckle to point directly at Helena. "Come closer."

Helena stood. She walked over to Myka. Picked up her diary and placed it securely in a drawer in her desk, which she then locked.

Myka laughed. "Are you going to sulk like a child all night, or are you going to enjoy me, unfettered and unashamed?"

"That's not the point of this exercise, is it?" Helena insisted. "I wanted to know what your true feelings for me were. I always knew you wanted to have sex with me. From the moment we met, you were as willing as a two-bit whore paid five shillings. I have to know what's underneath, what's deep within."

"The night is young," Myka drawled, her fingers slipping over her crotch, up to the jutting tongue of belt leather. "I'll see if I can go deep enough for you." Her finger tensing on the belt, she slowly drew it out of her trousers. The whistle of leather through belt loops made Helena shift on her heels with a certain anxiety. "You can be so modest, Helena, even in your diary. Oh, that whole pain into pleasure business is sexy as hell, but you're not much for details. Was his prick long or fat? Did you take it in your mouth or between your tits? Maybe up the ass? I wouldn't put it past you."

"A lady doesn't tell and a gentleman doesn't ask."

"Good thing it's just us girls then." Myka dropped her belt to the floor like a snake-charmer done with her act. "Come. Closer," she reiterated.

Helena found herself pulled to Myka, drawn in by the sheer forcefulness of her sexuality. It had never happened to her before. Even her most able lovers hadn't been able to… hold her like this.

"Unzip my fly," Myka ordered.

"So your most decadent fantasy is for me to be your servant," Helena said over the rattle of the zipper opening. "How depressing."

"Not quite." Myka reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a banknote, opening it crisply in front of Helena. Sir John Houblon stared at her. "Fifty pounds. Tonight, you'll be the whore and I'll be the john."

Helena wasn't offended by the suggestion. After all, she'd already dismissed her diary being read. She took the bill and tucked it into her backpocket. "Fifty pounds? Having sampled the goods, surely you have a better concept of their worth."

"Consider it a down payment. Reach into my pants for the next installment."

Helena dipped into Myka's open fly, feeling something hard and round waiting for her. "Oh, Agent Bering. If I could be paid in that, I should have been the wealthiest woman in London."

"I think you'd better deposit it in the bank before someone rips you off," Myka suggested, working her 'cock' out of the boy-panties she wore to accommodate it. As Helena had suspected, it was Lovelace's dildo, strapped to Myka's hips by some particularly sturdy looking leather.

"And which vault should I lock it in?" Helena asked, getting down on her knees. She leaned close enough to the dildo for her words to breeze against it, and an answering shudder went through Myka's body. As useless as MacPherson had turned out to be, he had been quite right about certain Artifacts' potential, in the proper hands.

Helena intended for the Lovelace to be used quite properly in her hands.

"Your mouth, Helena," Myka answered, back under control. "I think we both know that nothing gets out of there unless you want it to."

"Bollocks!" Helena replied, teasingly.

A moment later, Myka's head was thrown back and her eyes were clenched shut. As much as she'd planned the encounter, and even experimented with jacking herself off (it had felt great, which explained a lot about Pete), she'd had no idea Helena would so quick overwhelm her senses.

"Do you even have a gag reflex!?" Myka demanded, exasperated. Even with her lips stretched, Helena managed a smile. It was good to know that even without inhibitions, Myka was still Myka.

Helena knew the modern feminism movement had an air of distaste for such phallocentric sex acts, but she'd always enjoyed giving good head. The lack of stimulation on her end was more than made up for by the sheer control she exerted over her power. Once she had her lips around their most sensitive organ—not to mention her hands having access to their other vulnerabilities—they were utterly in her power.

Case in point: Helena dragged herself off the dildo, enjoying the growing distress on Myka's face as her lover received less and less pleasure, yet still too enraptured to do anything about it. When the dildo, slick and warm, popped out of Helena's mouth, she grabbed it with a tight fist and gave it a happy jerk. By the long moan Myka gave, she was mollified.

"Hold this for me," Helena asked, pushing the dildo up towards Myka.

Myka unthinkingly took hold of it. Despite being nothing more than silicone, the once-rubbery material was now as rigid as dried cement. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Helena had taken off her jacket, and now took her sweet time in folding it. She planned to be equally fastidious with her buttondown shirt. "You asked about Freddy. To answer your question, I did take him in my mouth, and I did rub my breasts all over his manhood. I intend to do the same to you, so grin and bear it."

Myka did grin. Then she put her foot against Helena and shoved, hard, sending Helena crashing down on her back. Myka stood up and stepped on Helena's chest, pressing down with just enough of her weight to make breathing an active concern. "I don't think you understand. You don't get to be in charge. You're a whore. And I've got money. So I'm going to use you as I see fit. And you'll enjoy it. Just like you're enjoying it right now. Aren't you?"

Helena's breath was coming fast, and Myka wasn't pressing down that hard. "Yes. I am."

"Good." Myka took her foot away, giving Helena a moment to breathe. "But since you're so eager to show me your tetons—"

She crouched over Helena, straddling her, to rip open her shirt. Buttons flew across the room and Myka could now see Helena's breasts heaving in all their glory, except for the bra that constrained them. Reaching into her pocket, she came up with a switchblade.

"Myka-!" Helena gasped as the blade came out. Her voice was almost orgasmic.

Myka cut Helena's bra open, not so much as nicking Helena's skin. The bra cups fell to either side and Myka took a moment to run her hand over Helena's chest. Not the kind of lower back problems that Pete seemed unable to keep his eyes off of, but not too small either. They were perfectly suited to Myka's hand, her long, slender fingers drawing in every gradients of their curves. Myka let go of Helena's left breast and paid similar courtesy to the right, pinching the nipple between her finger and twisting just a little, walking the fine line between pain and pleasure. Helena's helpless leer showed her what side she ended up on.

"And as long as I'm here," Myka said under her breath, now moving the knife to Helena's trousers. As Helena panted, her desire not to move warring with her need to fuck Myka senseless, Myka cut away her trousers with surgical precision, leaving them a mess of fabric ready to blow away at the first breeze.

The air conditioning wasn't on.

Tapping the very tip of the knife against Helena's belt buckle, Myka moved lower, brushing away scraps of fabric from her panties. Myka giggled at the sight of them. She hadn't noticed Helena's bra in all the excitement, but Helena's panties were of the same set—red and lacy, whorish even. Myka's smile stayed on her face as she slit the waistband on either side, leaving the panties in place by sheer will.

"We can come back to those later," she said, moving over Helena. The blade retracted back into its hilt and Myka tucked the knife away. Helena was gasping as if it were held to her throat.

Myka crawled over her on all fours, taking in the entire package. The smell of Helena's groin, the sweat beading her midsection. She dipped her head and licked at a breast in passing, prompting a groan from Helena. Then she reached Helena's face. Her flushed, begging face. Her brown eyes slits, but it was hard to tell if it was in suspicion or arousal. Slowly, Myka brought her hand to Helena's face. She touched it and found it blazing hot, but more, Helena's mouth lapsed open at the contact.

"Myka," she said gently. "What are you doing?"

"What do you want me to be doing?" Myka replied. Her fingers moved over Helena's delicate skin, down an aristocratic cheekbone to her mouth. A fingertip felt the glossy finish of Helena's lipstick.

"I'm your whore, remember?" Helena insisted. Her lips trembled as Myka's fingers circled it. "Use me."

Myka ran her finger down Helena's lips, watching her bottom lip open, revealing those wonderfully sharp teeth. She pulled her hand away. "Get on the bed."

"I thought we were going to—"

"Get on the bed. Bend over it."

Myka pulled back into a kneel, making it clear she wouldn't be touching Helena until the Englishwoman obeyed. Slowly, Helena got up, her ruined clothes falling away. She divested herself of the jacket and shirt hanging open from her shoulders and despite everything, she enjoyed the look in Myka's eyes. There was no control in it, just lust, her eyes openly drinking in Helena's body. Helena gave her the full picture, turning around to go to the bed and then bending over its side so Myka wouldn't see how wet she was.

Myka stood, stroking the dildo that hung through her pants. She still wore everything but her belt, and while Helena's brain feverishly ran through justifications, all she could come up with was that Myka had all the power. It was just like that horrid pornography that seemed to have twisted sex into something simultaneously shameful and obscene. The one with no clothes was vulnerable, controlled, while the other didn't even have to sacrifice the fold of his pants.

Why then did Myka undress?

Myka started with her heels, neatly slipping them off her feet. The sight of Myka's bare feet sinking into the carpet made Helena feel oddly warm. She looked sidelong at Myka as the woman shrugged off her jacket and tossed it uncaringly to the floor; stepping closer, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it slip off. At the foot of the bed, Myka skimmed off her pants. Helena bit her lip—both the pink of her womanhood and the coral of her nipples were still concealed, and it struck her as profoundly unfair.

"You can look, Helena," Myka said, her voice no longer strident, but barely more than a whisper. It coiled in Helena's ear and ran down to her crotch. "Look at me. It's for you. This is all for you." She reached behind her to unfasten her bra.

Immediately, the bra dipped, revealing more of her cleavage to Helena's scouring eyes. Helena dug her fingers into the bedsheets to keep from touching them—they were so close, Myka was so close.

Myka slipped the bra straps off her arms and nothing covered her skin but the straps of the dildo and her long curly hair. Helena stared at her breasts, tantalizingly obscured by her hair… they seemed even more perfect than Helena remembered, firm and lovely and round.

Helena lifted herself up, revealing herself to Myka, and was gratified to see Myka's eyes widen at the sight. Moving onto her side, hand cocked on her hip, Helena stared into Myka like the picture of temptation.

Then Myka saw her cringe—the memories crashing in once more. The last time they'd done this, Helena had been at peace, Myka had been at peace, and then it had all twisted away. Kneeling down beside the bed, Myka reached out to Helena—taking her hand. There was nothing intimate about it, but somehow Helena felt herself lighten.

"You wanted to know what my innermost desire was?" Myka asked. "I don't have some prostitute fantasy. I don't care who's on top or who wears the pants or whatever you call it in Britain. I just want to see you happy."

Standing, she circled around behind Helena, not letting go of her hand until the last possible moment. Gently, she pressed Helena back down to the bed. Her hands meshed in Helena's hair, pulling it to the side, off the beautiful expanse of her back. Then her fingers circled Helena's shoulders, slowly running down her sides, brushing the outside of her breasts, down the barest hint of her ribcage in her slender abdomen, fitting to her hips and squeezing, Myka bringing the dildo forward, teasing Helena with the very tip.

Helena closed her eyes and sighed, burying her face in the satin sheets of her bed.

"No," Myka said, kissing Helena's shoulder. She rolled Helena over, onto her back, and they saw each other once more. Helena couldn't stop her lips from twitching, a smile—there was something so Myka there, now that she wasn't acting, her quirked grin and a hand nervously brushing a lock of hair back into place. "I want to see you."

"I want your visage as well. I wish to keep seeing you. Not as a reminder of what I've lost, but—in the morning, and before bed, and wherever I can find you." The admission startled Helena. She wondered if perhaps she'd been exposed to an Artifact as well, or maybe Myka's longing for her had simply created one. Her usual armor of cool humor and British remove, which she'd thought had become impenetrable after Myka's betrayal, was nowhere in sight. Everything she could possibly feel coursed through her. This woman had brought her out of the bronze more than the Warehouse ever could.

Sitting up, Helena threw herself on Myka. She would've borne her to the ground if the wall hadn't got in the way. Myka's back slammed into it, Helena pressing hard against her, and she would've apologized to Myka if she wasn't sure that stopping for a chat would be a bigger sin than a little bruising.

Helena showered Myka with kisses, desperate to get the flavor of her back on her tongue. The dildo was jammed hard enough to Helena's thigh to leave an imprint, but Helena had no interest in toys and games just then. She wanted Myka. She'd wanted Myka all the days she'd been imprisoned and she'd wanted Myka as soon as she'd gotten out, it'd just been safer not to admit it.

Pulling back, Helena felt herself growl. The sight of Myka, lustful eyes and kiss-swollen lips, hair a mess, was a potent enough aphrodisiac to turn Helena into an animal. She grabbed Myka by the hair and forced her down to the junction between her neck and shoulder. Myka got the message. She caressed Helena's throat just the way only she could, not quite a bite and not quite a kiss.

"I'll be your whore," Helena said. "Your girlfriend. Your mistress. Whatever you want me to be, but have me, have me."

Myka bit down on Helena's throat and Helena felt a tremor go through her legs. Before she could even moan, Myka had spun her around and shoved her against the wall. "Absolutely. And it's girlfriend. Definitely girlfriend." Myka tried to approach her again, but her dildo butted against Helena's waist.

Myka was pulling at a strap when Helena grabbed the Lovelace. "Use it. You've had me every way a woman can have another woman. Now claim me as a man claims a woman."

Myka snorted. "You are just so damn Victorian sometimes."

"Oh?" Helena quirked an eyebrow. "And is this so very Victorian?" she asked, dropping to her knees.

"What-?" Myka started to say, before her next sight of Helena was a mass of dark hair bobbing up and down on her. This time, the pleasure of the blowjob came to her in a flood. Helena wasn't toying with her, she was squeezing an orgasm out of Myka like a python crushing its prey. Before she knew it, Myka had to palm the wall to stay upright. With her other hand, she reached down and fisted Helena's hair, pulling it out of the way to get a glimpse of Helena's hungry eyes as she looked up at Myka.

With a wink, Helena released Myka and stood again. Even more insouciantly, she kissed Myka on the cheek.

"No wonder all my boyfriends were so crazy for that!" Myka gasped.

"Really? Not to disparage the taste of the average American male, but the rest of your body holds so many wonders all its own." Helena spat in her hand and reached down to lubricate Myka further. Myka's entire body tensed. Falling over wasn't a problem anymore. Being able to move without breaking in half was.

With one last maddening squeeze, Helena released Myka and backed against the wall, between a chest of drawers and the TV stand. She planted her hands on both, sarcastically holding herself steady. "I'm ready, Myka. Virgin territory, just waiting for you to plant your flag."

"Virgin?" Myka asked, eyebrow raised, as she forced herself to take a teeny step forward. Her cock was motionless in front of her. It was literally rock-hard.

"Is not every woman onto a virgin at the start of a great love affair?" Helena asked with the air of a poet, ruined by her lazy smirk.

"This isn't the start."

"Yes. It is. No more secrets. No more mistrust. We start anew, here. I trust you, Myka Bering. Do you trust me?"

Myka touched her dildo to Helena's sex. "With all my heart. Shall I?"

"If I wait any longer, I'll combust."

"You asked for it." She put her hand to Helena's chest, avoiding the hard nipples straining for her touch, and pressed Helena back against the wall. Then her hand moved lower, down to meet Myka's other hand, coming up Helena's smooth hips. They stopped, steadying Helena's pelvis as the Englishwoman trembled with excitement. Myka moved her foot between Helena's spread legs and stepped forward. With the first twinge of motion, she lodged the head of her cock inside Helena, stopping to process just how hot and smooth and wet Helena was.

Helena smiled with supreme satisfaction. "Is it in yet?"

Myka smiled right back at her. She drove her hips at Helena, sinking nearly the full length of her shaft deep within Helena. Even as the Englishwoman gasped, Myka's lips met hers. By the end of the kiss, Helena was even more shaken than she had been by the penetration. She bit her lip and tried to grow used to the feel of Myka inside her.

Myka was enraptured as well, her head tilted back and her eyes nearly shut. Only the promise of the wanton look on Helena's face could draw her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes and lost her breath. Helena looked sated, content, yet her eyes begged Myka for more.

Myka reached down, her fingers stretching across the bottom of Helena's thighs, and lifted her legs up to wrap around Myka's waist. Totally in Myka's power, Helena slid down on the cock, vocal now, letting go of a series of yeses in husky whisper. Her legs tightened around Myka, unable to draw her any closer than she already was, but making sure she wasn't going anywhere. Her arms followed suit, clasping around Myka's back, and Helena lowered her chin to Myka's shoulder, completely abandoning any stance to open herself up to Myka's pleasure.

"Do with me as you will," she begged. Her voice wouldn't have reached Myka's ear if her lips weren't right next to it.

"Because you're my whore?" Myka asked, wondering if Helena still hadn't gotten that fantasy out of her system. She was bored of it.

"Because I love you. And I'll show it any way I can." Helena's legs tightened around Myka, almost painfully, her body undulating seemingly of its own accord. But by the mischievous glint in Helena's eye, she knew exactly what effect she was having on Myka. "You can do anything you want to me!" Helena said, her voice taking on a fierce fervor. "Anything at all!"

"I intend to!" Myka said, suddenly driving herself into Helena, and Helena against the wall. Helena squealed as Myka dove to the hilt inside her, then could only communicate by long shuddering moan as Myka drew herself slowly out, overpowering the grip Helena's legs had on her. Helena protested desperately as Myka's cockhead nearly escaped her, and her eyes flew open in relief as Myka pushed her way back in. Helena dug her feet into Myka's back, begging for more.

Myka gave it to her, her fingers scratching to get behind Helena's ass even as her own body jammed it against the wall, but finally she had her, she could both pull Helena in and push her against the wall. Helena did nothing less, flinging herself against Myka's raging penetration. "I've never felt anything like it, never, never!"

"You will again!" Myka promised, hitching Helena up to seek her breasts with her teeth. The taste of sweat and something uniquely Helena swirled in her mouth as she suckled urgently, trying desperately to keep Helena's nipples in her mouth as the Englishwoman bounded up and down. "I'm going to fuck you like this every night! Every hour!"

Helena felt herself catch fire. She screeched and clawed Myka's back and stiffened with passion, throwing her head back against the wall so hard that years from then, there would be a dent that Helena would look at before smiling with remembered bliss.

""I'm yours! Make me yours! Take me!" Helena screamed. All rationality, all pretense had abandoned her. She waved goodbye to them gladly. She didn't need them, not with Myka. "I'm going to come!" she sputtered, forcing her eyes open to see Myka's face, her beauty. "Kiss me! For the love of God, kiss me!"

She groped for Myka's mouth with her own, kissing Myka's cheeks and throat before meeting her. Myka's tongue snaked against hers, somehow refining the pleasure of the cock buried inside her. Myka clenched her hand in Helena's hair, pressing their mouths together harder. Helena finally pulled herself away to gasp in air, and Myka rammed her against the wall. She felt as if she were going to split open, to make more room for Myka to fill her with pleasure.

"Come," Myka said, ordering, begging.

For the first time, Helena felt her orgasm distinct from her pleasure, the first rolling swells of it, then it came crashing down on her. Her teeth clamped down as it drove air and sound from her body, paralyzing her, then she cried out and the sound was like the orgasm, a blinding roaring rush of heat and noise, obliterating everything but the pleasure that ran through her, reminding her that she was alive and not laid to peaceful rest.

"Yours," Helena said as she swallowed Myka in her churning body, "yours," as she sucked the orgasm out of her straining cock, "yours," as she heard Myka's panting breath, felt her muscles harden like molten lead hit by cold water. "Yours!" Helena yelled, matching the strangled cried Myka gave as she orgasmed, sinking herself deep into Helena, their bodies crushing together by mutual choice, until their orgasm had finished with them.

Myka staggered backwards, determined to hold Helena up, until they fell together onto the bed. Helena moaned at the pleasure of the dildo shifting inside her; too much, too soon, as much as she wished she could keep it inside her forever and never end the moment, she had to ease it out for the sake of her sanity.

"You're so good to me," she told Myka gently, sleep taking her already. Myka had fucked her into unconsciousness, several minutes ago in fact, but her pleasure had kept her going like a caffeine high. Without it, she might as well have been in a coma. "Soooo good to me, so good… Myka…"

Myka wrapped her arms around Helena and followed suit. 

* * *

"That is how you make a cup of tea," Helena said, pouring Myka a cup. She had a point. It smelled delectable.

Myka had just woken up to find Helena sitting at the bedside, a tea tray already prepared on the bedstand. She took the offered tea cup and winced. Her head was not exactly pounding, but definitely throbbing, and little scales of pain played down her back. Myka brushed the sheets aside and saw a small amount of blood smeared around the mattress.

"My fault, I'm afraid." Helena held up her nails, which had reached a finely manicured length. "In your absence, I pampered myself a little and, well… rest assured I'll trim these before we pursue more extracurricular activities."

"My back…" Myka murmured. "Oh. It was worth it."

"I agree, but then, I'm not the one with the war wounds. On your belly, love."

Myka followed orders. "You're insatiable."

"Don't flatter yourself, Myka. I am able to restrain myself. Barely." Picking up a bottle of lotion from the floor, Helena squeezed some out into her palm and worked it into a lather before touching Myka's naked back. Myka cringed instantly. It felt like she'd been used as a lion's scratching post.

"I owe you an apology," Helena said, pulling Myka away from the pleasure of her touch. By her tone, she wasn't talking about the scratches.

"No. You don't owe me anything. I'm lucky to—"

Helena moved her hands to Myka's neck, openly massaging her. Myka felt what seemed to be years of stress peel away. She didn't know if it was Helena's skill or just the fact that it was her. "If I bribe you with a rubdown, will you lend me your ears with your silence?"

Myka sighed into her pillow.

"I know how highly you value your discipline. You're rightly proud of it. I should never have asked you to give that up, not for a moment."

Myka was astonished. After everything, Helena was still concerned with her welfare. It convinced her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Helena deserved a second chance. "I did it gladly. I wanted to know what was in my heart too. Whether I wanted you back because of guilt over the way things ended or… without you, I'm half of who I'm supposed to be. Please, I know you have no reason to take me back…"

Rolling Myka over, Helena put a finger to her lips. Her lotion-daubed hand smelt of berries. It made her scent as sweet as her words. "I have every reason. And you've given me more. I'm staying as long as you'll have me."

Myka rolled Helena into her arms. It felt so right. Like a part of her had died, and after months of clinging to life without it, she'd finally gotten a transplant. "Then you're staying a long damn time."

They laid next to each other, on their sides and in each others' arms, just enough distance between them to be able to look into each others' faces and see the warmth they'd thought had been lost.

"May we stay like this a while?" Helena asked, with a little pout in case Myka dared consider refusing.

"Oh, I'll grin and bear it, but only for an hour or so." Deliberately, Myka let go of her tension. She gathered up all the knots and knots of worry that swirled around her, asking what if Helena did this and what if Helena did that, and let them wilt under the power of Helena's skin, pressed against Myka like the morning sun caressing her body, promising her the darkness was gone. "I love you."

Myka had seen Helena smile many times, but never like this. There was always an edge to it, a cool remove where she could stand impervious, but not here. Here Helena was soft as marshmallow, not a single sharp end for Myka to cut herself on. "I love you too."

Myka pulled Helena just a little closer. Already, the pain of her cut back was eclipsed. "Say it like you say it."

Helena chuckled at the Americanism, but gave in to Myka's request, her sinuous winding around her body. After a lifetime and more of waiting, she had found what she'd lost. "My love. My dream. My fate."

Myka kissed her then, hard enough to risk setting their play off again. "My Helena."


End file.
